


though i try my heart stays still

by nightwideopen



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Aromantic Character, Blood, Bullying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Harry Potter Next Generation, Head Injury, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Hospitalization, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Minor Violence, Miscommunication, No Smut, Panic Attacks, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-12-13 13:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11760954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: Part One: Sixth YearThe Great Hall falls just as silent as Louis, as one by one the kids who get sent the paper every morning see the day’s breaking news. After the initial silence, the whispers start. His own housemates start staring, their eyes wide. Louis can't bring himself to stop looking around, to stop seeing everyone looking at him knowing that his family, the one he never asked to be brought into is now the target of public shame.Harry’s hand finds its way into his, and the discomfort of the sentiment behind it only serves to make Louis’ stomach twist into a tighter knot. He rips his hand away, panic settling in, and he can't seem to leave the hall fast enough.Or, the one where Louis' life falls apart in three different ways, all at once.





	1. Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You Are The Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/861968) by [sarcasticfluentry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfluentry/pseuds/sarcasticfluentry). 
  * Inspired by [Little Lion Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276732) by [Writcraft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft). 



> HIYA! This has been a long time coming. I'm finally combining my two favorite fandoms and giving you this absolute monster. I wanted something that was both an exploration of these people and characters inside this universe but also something a bit out of character for them (especially Louis' character) so that it was a somewhat relatable journey of self discovery of a topic that is largely under-represented in this (1d) fandom. I hope - sincerely HOPE - that this resonates with somebody out there. If not, I hope it's a good read anyway.
> 
> This fic is largely inspired by You Are The Blood, and I think you'll find that evident if you've read it. Along the way I've found myself mixing up Harry Potter canon and YATB canon (which in my opinion is the better canon.) So I've stolen some stuff from there, be it involuntarily, and have ignored most of the Cursed Child canon. Whoops? Not sorry though. Rowling's canon mostly makes my blood boil.
> 
> Much thanks to the lovely [Writcraft](http://archiveofourown.org/users/writcraft) for being a huge inspiration and motivation as well as Britpicking this for me. You should all check out their works!
> 
> Title from Always In My Head by Coldplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This is an incomplete, chaptered WIP that will not update regularly. It will consist of two parts, the first part being four chapters and the second being two.**
> 
> **This work deals with bullying, mild violence, self discovery, implied deaths, and mentions of war. The Underage tag is in reference to mentions of sex between underaged characters. Trigger warnings are subject to change for each chapter. Please check the Additional Tags before reading.**
> 
> **Spaces indicate a time jump within the same day, symbols indicate a longer passage of time.**

“Ow, fuck.”

Louis will never get used to this damn train.

“Bloody…  Fucking— ” He stumbles into his robes, pulling the hood over his head petulantly once he gets it right. “Bullshit train.”

His hair isn’t sitting right now that he’s got his hood on, and he rushes to fix it, using the window as a makeshift mirror. The brown strands never seem to cooperate, always falling across his forehead unevenly, spaced out, or tangled over his right eyebrow. Louis shoots a fake smile at his reflection and frowns at the front tooth that got chipped in a very rough game of Wizard’s Chess. (Liam is quite the sore loser.)

Once he deems his appearance good enough for the inside of an empty train compartment, Louis tucks himself into the corner next to the window. He taps the glass every few seconds, gazing out at the blurred shrubbery that frames the tracks before shifting his focus to the unmoving landscape ahead of him. They’ve only just left London, and the scene hasn’t turned into mountains yet, but the difference between the country and the city is already evident. This year makes Louis’ sixth of sitting on the Hogwarts Express, watching the towering buildings turn into tall trees, and it never ceases to amaze him just as much as the first time he'd seen it.

Louis remembers that day vividly, thinks about it often. He'd barely made it onto the platform unscathed. He’d spent the entire train ride in a compartment _alone_ . The Sorting had been nothing short of a disaster: he’d tripped over his robes, and all but fell onto the stool. Louis didn't know what he was expecting to hear, but before the hat had rested on his head for more than a few seconds, it bellowed out its decision, and suddenly the entire populace of the Great Hall wanted to know how the hell a _Tomlinson_ got sorted into _Slytherin_. Eleven year old Louis knew exactly what all the eyes on him meant, what the muted claps and wariness of the students that he sat down next to were all about. Sometimes, he can still feel that same frantic racing of his heart.

He knows he's adopted. He’s known since he was old enough to question the lack of resemblance between him and his parents. He wanted to know why there were no pictures of him before he was five. A stubborn and persistent ten year old, Louis had worked to get the truth out of his shellshocked guardians; and the truth he was given. On a dry August morning, his mum and dad finally caved, but only just. They refused to give him any information on his birth parents, or tell him if he had any siblings or other relatives. Ten years later, Louis still doesn't know where he comes from, so he never told anyone the truth.

Naturally, the teasing came anyway. First year was the charms, levitating his food right off of his fork, magically yanking down his tie as he walked by. Second year was the funny notes with dancing, paper airplanes circling his head before landing on his desk and crumpled balls of parchment knocking against his forehead. Third year was setting the Doxies on him in Defense Against the Dark Arts and not telling him the password to the common rooms when they were changed. Fourth year was when Harry, Zayn, Niall, and Liam threatened anyone who bothered Louis again with a Horn Tongue Hex.

And luckily for him, on that first day, Harry had swooped him up as soon as he could. A little, gangly mess of a boy, and a social butterfly, he’d already made his way over to the Slytherin table from his seat among the Ravenclaws. But he, like most Purebloods and unlike Louis, was already friends with many of the other Pureblood witches and wizards in higher years, as well as their own. What set him apart was that he'd made it evident he wasn't going to let Louis’ family name cause a problem within the house and immediately took him under his wing and claimed him as a friend. Having Harry by his side made it bearable.

“Don't worry about them,” he’d said, “They've got their heads up their arses about house lineage and whatnot. You'd think they’d have learned by now, what with Albus Potter and everything.”

“Right.” Louis hadn't known what to say, still in shock. “Thanks.”

After that, it had only taken a day for Harry to become Louis’ otherworldly best friend. By otherworldly, Louis means that upon first meeting he'd sworn that Harry was an alien of some sort. It's simply that Harry is so _smart_. He isn't just book smart, he's down to earth and wise in all areas: love and life – literally everything under the sun. Harry constantly speculated about everything, and was always asking Louis questions about himself.

The train wobbles and snaps Louis out of his memories. He hates that, because hard as he tries to sleep, his head always rhythmically knocks on the glass of the window. He’s forced to watch his intermittent breaths fog up the window, then clear up, only to fog it up again. He tries to write his name, but only gets up to the _i_ , because the September chill outside beats him to the end. It gets boring rather quickly and he wishes everyone would just hurry up and get here—

The compartment door slides open, thankfully interrupting his thoughts.

“Louis!”

A blur of black and blue apparel comes bounding in, jumping into Louis’ outstretched arms. He’s light, and Louis can easily hold him up with tight arms around his middle.

“Hiya, Haz.” The nickname rolls off his tongue easily. “Good holidays?”

Harry withdraws from the hug with a huge grin on his face. “Fantastic, you know that. Nothing you haven't already heard about, I made sure to text you everything.”

“Wish you would’ve called though, so I could hear them properly.”

“ _Lou_ ,” he groans, “Don’t make me feel guilty for being so busy. You know I've been doing charity work on top of apprenticeships.”

A voice pipes up from behind Harry’s head. “C’mon, mate, you know your stories are always so much better in your sweet, sultry voice.”

Louis rolls his eyes. Of course Harry has to constantly have his pretentious, loudmouth friend in tow. Nick likes to pretend that he doesn’t have his own group of friends to puppydog around with because they all know it makes Harry feel special that Nick chooses to spend most of his time with him anyway. The only time Nick spends apart from Harry is when Harry peels himself off the tall arsehole to spend time with Louis and the lads.

“Hello to you too, Louis. Always a pleasure.”

Nick saunters past Louis, their shoulders colliding in the small space. It really is a wonder that Louis hasn’t hexed him in the entire six years that they’ve known each other.

“You as well, Nicholas.” The dissent is evident as the words roll off his tongue. “I personally enjoy your constant third-wheeling.”

Nick doesn’t respond, and Harry remains silent in favour of scooping Louis up in his arms to break the moment. It just so happens to be the warmest hug that Louis has ever received. It reminds Louis of last winter, when Harry finally admitted his crush on Louis, when Louis couldn't do anything but blush and nod confusedly as Harry insistently asked if he liked him back. Of course he liked Harry, they'd been close friends for years.

“I missed you,” Louis offers.

“Likewise.”

So they're… going out now, apparently. At least, that's what Harry has been telling people. They've been talking a lot about what they're going to do together this year– Namely, dates. It's mostly the same things they've been doing since first year, except now Harry adds kisses at the ends of his texts, charms up little bubble hearts to float around Louis’ head.  And he does things like he's doing now, running his thumb across the tiny constellation of freckles on Louis’ cheek. He gets why they wouldn't do that before, but he isn't sure if it's supposed to make him feel something other than the usual fondness he has towards Harry.

Somewhere inside Louis, something feels off. He reasons with his annoying brain that he's _glad_ to see his boyfriend after so long, has missed his company and conversations and sarcasm and relentless teasing. But there's still a nagging discomfort in the back of his head. It's due to the way Harry always wants to touch him and kiss him and hold him close in a way he didn't back when they were just friends that doesn't sit right, like there's _more_ to it. But it makes Harry happy, and that's a good enough reason. His brain will just have to deal with that.

“Aren't you two just the cutest?” Nick muses sarcastically as Harry and Louis sit down across from him.

“Aw, don’t worry,” Harry leans over with his long arms and pinches Nick’s pouty face, “You’ll find someone soon enough. You’ve finally grown into your hair! Everyone will be throwing themselves at you this year.”

It’s always been a wonder to Louis that Nick’s never been with anyone. The way Harry says Nick talks about love, while it’s always been another language to Louis, he can tell that it’s something extra special to him. It’s almost as if he’s trying to compensate for something else. Maybe he needs to get laid. Merlin knows Louis does; It’s been a long two months.

Louis’ thoughts are interrupted once more as the compartment door slides open, violently this time.

“Tommo!”

“Hello to you, too, Niall.”

The jolt of Niall depositing himself on Louis’ lap breaks his and Harry’s hands apart, and the breath of relief he accidentally lets out is easily disguised as the wind being knocked out of him.

“Why've you got your hood on? It's like a sauna in here…” Niall hops off Louis’ lap and sits courteously across from him, much too close to Nick. Nick doesn't scoot away. “So, how was everyone's summer? I only got pictures from Harry!”

Niall’s very gesticulative when he speaks, flapping around the sleeves of the robes that were once his taller, older brother’s. He's energetic and bright, glowing yellow from his hair to his Hufflepuff emblazoned socks. The embodiment of happiness and sunshine, Niall is the life and soul of the little friendship group they've built over the years.

Louis still remembers the first time they met; Being hugged within an inch of his life is not something easily forgotten.

It was Potions class, where he first met Niall; the one class Slytherins and Hufflepuffs had together first year. True to his nature as a Hufflepuff and as Niall in general, he’d snatched Louis up as his partner right away, arms wrapped so tightly around his waist that he still isn't sure how his hip bones hadn't cracked under the pressure. He'd dragged Louis off to a cauldron, leaving Louis breathless and shrugging back at whomever he had been talking to. Niall was an excellent partner, too, in that he never overshadowed Louis’ affinity for Potions, gladly letting him do all of the work.

“Earth to Tommo!”

Niall’s clicking his fingers at Louis’ face for some reason.

“What is it? Stop that.” The three of them are staring at him and at some point Zayn and Liam had joined them. “I’ve missed something, I gather.”

He tries his hardest to engage in the conversation as the train pulls further in the country and way up north. It’s hard, what with how Louis just wants to curl up into his corner of the car and watch the forests around them grow thicker, the mountains higher.

He manages, somehow.

 

Louis sleeps through most of the Sorting, as per usual. The only reason he wakes up at all is because Harry hugs him from behind and startles him. He nearly knocks over an entire plate of chicken and is subjected to Niall’s loud cackling in his ear. The entire exchange gives him that familiar homely feeling, filling him with the warm reminder that he's back at Hogwarts. It also gives him a headache.

Louis walks with Niall to the Hufflepuff common rooms once all of the younger years have been herded out of the Great Hall. The only reason he does it is because he knows that the house-elves love Niall and always slip him food to take to bed.

“When’ve you got Herbology? Do you know off the top of your head?”

“Um… Every other day, I think. In the mornings and the evenings. It’s going to be so advanced, I’m so excited to– Oh, hello!”

Several paintings respond to Niall’s greeting. He's got them all wrapped around his finger. Even notorious trouble maker Sir Cadogan has a soft spot for him.

“Have a good evening, young Horan,” the knight shouts over his chatty neighbours.

“You as well, see you!” Niall smiles brightly, that charming one that fools everyone into falling in love with him.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Louis gripes, leading Niall away, “That’s when I’ve got Potions, so… No scheduling conflicts there if you wanna hang out, play Quidditch or summat. And like, I’m excited about the classes, but I’m thinking it’s not really what I want to do anymore.”

“I’m actually taking a lot of classes but–” Niall comprehends the last bit belatedly. “Wait, what do you mean you don’t want to do it anymore?”

“Well… I’m good at Potions, but I think maybe that’s the only reason I’ve been pursuing it. I’m not really good at anything else, don’t really have any concrete interests, but it’s _easy_ for me. Just reading and common sense.”

“Potions isn’t common sense, Lou. You’re an absolute genius at it. It comes naturally to you. If it were that easy, Zayn would be just as good—”

“Zayn’s good at everything,” he mumbles.

Niall rolls his eyes but carries on, “You’ve gotta believe in yourself. But if you think it’s not right for you, you’ll work it out. You’ve got plenty of time. Start exploring other things. Zayn mentioned there are some extra spots in Care of Magical Creatures, and I imagine your O.W.L’s were good enough.”

“Outstanding, yeah.”

“Good. Do that. Branch out. Won’t hurt to fill up your time rather than skulking around the Owlery playing Exploding Snap with yourself.”

“I don't always—” Louis stops short. “Wait, how do you know I do that?”

Niall’s laughter tinkers down the hallway and is followed by a head popping out of the kitchen’s doors, leaving Louis’ question effectively unanswered.

“Is that Mister Horan that Winky hears in the corridors?”

Niall perks up. “There she is! My favourite elf. Did you miss me?”

Winky comes scurrying out, her large ears and yellow sundress flopping behind her. She’s trailed by two other elves whose arms are overflowing with snacks and goodies.

“Of course Winky missed you, Mister Horan! Spent extra time baking you sweets.”

The elf look positively ecstatic, with perked ears and wide, saucer-sized eyes.

“You didn’t have to do that, Winky. You’re too kind.”

“Anything for Mister Horan…” Winky notices the company, “And his friend!”

A silence ensues, and Niall’s bony elbow finds its way between Louis’ ribs when it carries on for too long.

“Ow! I’m– Thank you, Winky. That’s very nice of you…” When no one else says anything after that, too busy staring at Louis, he asks, “Have you got any hot chocolate?”

Winky nods eagerly. “Of course!” A steaming mug floats out from behind the door not long after, right into Louis’ hands.

“Thanks so much.”

“You’re a dick,” Niall whispers.

“Thank you for the sweets, Winky.” The heaps of sweets are suddenly in Niall’s arms. “See you tomorrow–! Bye, Lou.”

Niall recites the Hufflepuff password and disappears into the common room, leaving Louis alone in the corridor with his lukewarm hot chocolate.

“ _Calefecere._ ”

The liquid in the cup heats up, returning to its originally steaming state. He's far from the Slytherin common room, and will probably have to reheat it several times– Or he could sneak into Ravenclaw tower for the night.

Louis trips over one of the trick steps, thoughts getting jostled in his head. Thinking aloud is so much easier, and he looks forward to being able to do that again.

In the same way that Niall has befriended the house elves over the years, Louis is close with the creatures that inhabit the Black Lake. He’s anxious to see them, tell them how his summer was. They’ve been there for him over the years in an interesting way, and it’s easier for him to talk to them than it is for most Slytherins. The Sirens don’t affect him the same, and he’s able to have long conversations with them without falling victim to their songs. It makes him feel incredibly special.

 

“There you are.”

“Here I am. _Wingardium Leviosa._ ”

He climbs into Harry’s bed – which he's going to cohabitate this year – with his re-heated mug levitating beside him as he gets comfortable. Once satisfied, he lets it fall back into his hands and leans up against the mountain of pillows opposite Harry. The heat from his drink seeps into Louis’ palms, right to his core, and the blanket he’s draped over his shoulders is becoming increasingly unnecessary. He keeps it there anyway. It makes him feel safe.

“How’d you get in?”

Louis gives him a devilish grin. “Solved the riddle, didn't I?”

“My clever little Slytherin.” Harry’s hand finds itself on Louis’ ankle over the blanket.

“Call me little again and I'll kick you in the mouth.”

Harry tightens his grip, knowing all too well that it isn't an empty threat. He jostles Louis’ leg with the force of it, causing his mug to shake.

“You’re going to make me spill it.”

“You’re a _wizard_ , you can just clean it up if you do.”

“And who’s going to tend to the second degree burns on my thighs? Hm?”

That makes Harry clamber up from his position at the foot of the bed to right underneath Louis’ blanket. He presses a fleeting kiss to Louis’ neck, and Louis is confused because there's no sexual connotation to it, not obviously, at least. It makes him squirm.

“You know I will. You've got a first rate Healer on your hands.”

Another kiss.

“You use _Episkey_ one time, and now you’re a Healer?”

And another.

“St. Mungo’s won't know what hit ‘em.”

Harry doesn't move again, just looks up at Louis with stars in his eyes like this moment is all he's ever wanted. He's had this look before, before they were going out and Harry’s apparently poorly concealed interest was still unbeknownst to Louis. Louis would have to ask, as they shared a glass of pumpkin juice over breakfast, or a leftover scone in the courtyard. And Harry would say, _I'm just glad to have met you,_ as simply as if he had asked for a piece of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. It's just like that, and Louis hates the immense weight it puts on him. The sheer adoration that Harry obviously has for him that Louis can't even begin to comprehend. He loves Harry, he does, but in times like this when he can see with his own two eyes that Harry loves him more, in a way that Louis can't understand, it terrifies him.

So he sets his hot chocolate down on the bedside table, and turns his body towards Harry properly, prepared to respond in the only way he knows how. Pulling Harry in for a lip-bruising kiss only seems right, as does casting _Muffliato_ over his bed and fumbling to pull the blanket over both of their heads. Louis’ hands twist into Harry’s hair and clambers into his lap, bridging the remaining gaps between them to press their bodies flush together.

“Lou– Louis, stop.” Harry’s thumbs dig into his hips. “I’m not in the mood right now.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but fulfills Harry’s request and frees them from the tent he’d so artfully created to retrieve his wand.

“Then what’d you kiss me for, weirdo?”

“Just–” Harry’s nose scrunches up, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “I just wanted to. Didn't mean I wanted to have sex, _weirdo_.”

It’s an accusation where Louis had only meant it jokingly, and a gut wrenching silence falls between them. Someone snuffles in their sleep two beds over.

“I'm sorry.” Louis voice goes raspy in his whisper. “I didn't think you– It's just. Sorry.”

His eyes drift shut, and he tries to quell the harsh thoughts running through his head. In response to his anxiety, his wand begins to tremble in his hand. Harry probably feels it against his chest, because he whispers back, “Hey,” and takes Louis’ hands in his own. He knows Louis’ tics and tells as well as he knows the ins and outs of his own home, probably.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Lou?”

“No.”

Silence falls over them because it sounds like a lie. He answered too quickly.

Harry seems to believe it, or pretends to, and digs his fingers into Louis’ sides, eliciting an onslaught of involuntary giggles. The tension dissipates, much to Louis’ relief, and he's able to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck with no restraint.

He falls asleep like that, head nestled under Harry’s chin, wondering why he got it wrong.

✦✧✦

Second only to Quidditch, nothing simultaneously relaxes and excites Louis more than the brewing of the perfect potion. The smoke makes his eyes all bloodshot, and the heat causes his hair to frizz up at the ends, but there’s really nothing else that makes him feel more comfortable than standing over a cauldron. Zayn has teased him for it countless times over the years, always having to tell Louis not to stick his face directly over the bubbling liquid because of the chances of an allergic reaction. Louis never listens, breaking out in hives and pimples at least once a week over the course of a school year. He can never remember the spell to make them go away, but Harry is always more than willing to test his newfound healing knowledge on Louis.

Professor Malfoy has set the class off on brewing a Draught of Peace. It’s classic Draco – he lets Louis call him ‘Draco’ now – to have all of the fifth year and up students brewing an anti-anxiety potion during the first week of term because he knows how many students are going to need it by the end.

“Looking sharp, Tomlinson.”

“As always, Professor.”

His potion turns an opaque yellow as he adds one last counterclockwise stir before setting it to simmer. It should turn blue within the next few minutes, providing that Louis has done it right (which, of course he has) and it’ll be his first successful potion of term.

“So, are you still thinking about that apprenticeship next year?” Draco leans against Louis’ bench, close enough to the cauldron that Louis is worried his sleeve might catch fire.

Louis sets down his stirrer, begins to clean up his station. “Yeah, of course. I may not… pursue anything specifically in Potions and I know that probably makes me less of a qualified candidate, but… I shouldn’t have said that. You’re not going to consider me now, _fuck_ —” He slaps a hand over his mouth, but laughs. “Wow, sorry.”

“I think we’re long past that, Louis.”

He’s right. Their student-teacher relationship has been dramatically altered since Draco caught Louis crying in a seventh floor niche and stuffing his face with Cauldron Cakes after he failed his Divination exam.

“True enough. Still in school, though.”

Draco waves a hand dismissively. “Look,” he drops his voice, “I know the other students accuse me of favouring you, but that’s only because you’re the least pain in my arse out of all of them – Don’t tell them I said that – But don’t worry about your qualification or your future. What’s here and now is what matters. If this is what you truly want and need to benefit you, then just focus on that. You’re truly gifted at Potions, and you could be of extreme use to me next year. You’re simply the best candidate. Between you and me, don’t worry about it.”

Louis stares at him for several long moments, unsure of how to properly express the bursting pride in his chest without crying.

“Would it be awfully inappropriate to hug you right now?”

Draco moves hastily away from the close proximity. “Alright, okay. That’s quite enough of that, get back to work.” He counters his professional tone with an approving wink.

Louis feels as though he's had several glasses of Gigglewater, light as air and giddy. He's going to _do_ this, chosen above all the others. He watches his potion turn a turquoise blue, and turns the burner off. This year is going to be a good one, he knows it.

 

First order of business after bidding Draco farewell is to find Harry. Louis swore to him months ago that if he got the apprenticeship he'd be the first to know. But he’s caught before he’s halfway out the door.

“Lou!”

An arm emerges out of nowhere, clamping down on the sleeve of Louis’ robes and pulling him into the corridor, off to the side.

“Who–” Two shining gold-brown eyes meet his. “Zayn? What’re you doing, trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Obviously. How come you're in such a hurry, huh?”

Bubbles of happiness pop in Louis’ chest with the reminder.

“It's not official yet, so don't tell anyone–”

“Not even Harry?”

“Well, no, _I’m_ going to. But it's looking like Dra– Professor Malfoy is going to give me that Potions apprenticeship.”

Zayn’s jaw drops. “Really?! How do you know?”

“He told me.”

“You really are a teacher’s pet, aren’t you?”

Louis ignores him and grabs his hand. “C’mon, I’ve gotta find Harry to tell him.”

All the way up the long staircase from the dungeons and through the corridors towards the Ravenclaw common room, the pair keep shouldering first years, Louis more so in his happy daze. They flash them dirty looks, most likely, but with every squeak that his Vans make on the marble floor, he can’t bring himself to care. All Louis sees is the light filtering through the stained-glass windows on the second floor, the hope for his future.

Harry’s voice coming from around the corner makes Louis’ feet stop. He must be just outside the Ravenclaw common room, but his voice is carrying all the way down the eerily empty corridor. Liam’s with him, and they’re talking as though they think that no one can hear them.

“He’s changed over the summer,” Harry is saying. “I know I should, like, talk to him about it but I don’t know how to bring it up.”

“Changed how?”

“He just seems more… reserved. He’s uncomfortable when I touch him, more than before. Not like regular Louis. I can’t even just kiss him without him taking it the wrong way. Do you think it was something I did?”

“No, but–”

“Do you think he doesn’t love me anymore?”

Doesn't love him? Of course Louis loves him.

“What is he talking about?” he hisses at Zayn.

Zayn looks startled when Louis turns to him, as though he seems to understand what's going on. But he answers with a shrug, expression falling into faux confusion.

“Am I not putting out enough? Is that it? Because he was the one that didn’t want to the other day. And I’ve been _trying–_ ”

“I don't think that's what he means, Lou, you're not listening.”

Instead of returning a snide comment, Louis shifts his focus back to the conversation they’re eavesdropping on.

“ _Talk_ to him, Harry.”

“Can’t you? You know he doesn’t take me seriously.”

There’s shuffling, perhaps a rearrangement of books.

“Harry–”

“Liam, _please_.”

Liam sighs, never one to deny his friends of something they need desperately. Louis has always told him that he’s too kind for his own good, that it’s okay to say no. But here Liam is, ignoring his advice once more. The dramatic irony that’s going to rear its ugly head in whatever future conversation they may have will certainly be interesting.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him. But if it doesn’t work, you have to do it yourself.”

“Thanks. Really, I owe you one. It’s just–”

“I know. Look… I’ve got to go, I’ll be late for class.”

Their goodbyes must be silent, because the next thing Louis hears is heavy footsteps coming towards them. After years of knowing the two, he’s fairly certain that they're Liam's. In a haste, he turns to Zayn and starts pushing him quickly behind one of the statues that line the corridor. Lucky for them, Liam’s in enough of a rush, head down and hair in his eyes, that he doesn’t spare a glance in their direction.

Heart heavy with a conversation he wasn’t meant to hear, Louis chances a glance at Zayn, whose eyes are brimmed with pity. Louis doesn’t want it, so he just starts down the hallway towards the Ravenclaw Common Room. Harry isn’t there when he rounds the corner. The corridor is a dead end, how could he have done that?

“He's probably inside,” Zayn supplies helpfully. A Ravenclaw himself, he recites the password to the portrait that guards the entrance, and it swings open. “C’mon. You've still got good news to tell.”

Louis can hardly be excited to tell Harry the news when his heart feels made of stone.

✦✧✦

“Well, well, well. Look who made it back to Hogwarts.” Scorpius Malfoy, resident genius and Head Boy, hops down from his perch on his boyfriend’s back. “Been in school a month and you can't find a spare moment to say hi? I'm offended.”

Louis grants him a side hug as well as he can with their significant height difference and his hands full.

“You know how hectic sixth year is, c’mon.”

Scorpius shrugs, unable to argue. “Yeah, alright.”

Albus and Scorpius have caught him on the way to the Quidditch pitch, broom in hand and adorned with his emerald and silver gear. It's the first match of the season, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, so it's not unusual that the pair are headed down there as well. Louis likes to pretend it's for him, but it's probably for Albus’ sister and cousin.

“Ready to watch me wipe the pitch with Payno? He's been made captain, the bastard, and won't stop going on about how invincible he feels.”

Albus snorts, burying his nose into his Slytherin scarf as they exit the castle, his black hair falling into his eyes. “You're just jeal—”

Scorpius jabs an elbow into him. “Ready as we'll ever be. You know me and Al don't really care for Quidditch,” he says with a smile.

“Yes, I _know_.” Louis squints. “You could at least _indulge_ me, Malfoy.”

He's only joking, but Scorpius starts apologising profusely. Albus stops him with a gloved hand over his mouth.

“He's fucking with you, babe.”

Albus drops his hand, eyes lighting up with fondness as he watches Scorpius glare at Louis. It's the same look Harry gets when Louis says something particularly funny, and makes Louis wonder if he's ever looked like that himself.  

“Sorry, mate, you make it too easy.”

No harm done, the three of them laugh, the low hum of the building crowd letting them know it's time to part ways. Albus grabs Scorpius’ hand and pulls him towards the pitch while Louis diverts towards the changing rooms.

In addition to their disappearance, Louis finds an unexpected arm slung around his neck. He’d be embarrassed of the noise he lets out in surprise, but he is genuinely being choked.

“Hiya Lou!”

“Niall, you’re killing me.”

“Oh,” Niall switches from a chokehold on Louis to a friendly arm around his shoulder, “Sorry. You ready for this match?”

“Oh, absolutely. How’s Liam? Have you seen him?”

“Not yet. Rumor has it that he's got ten sickles on the match, though.”

Louis scoffs. “Cheapskate. I'll double it. We've got new Beaters this year and I reckon they'll knock Pezza off her broom within the first ten minutes.”

“Oi! I resent that!”

Louis turns just in time to see Perrie’s hair change from bubblegum pink to a fiery red. It's one of Louis’ favourite things to do, watch which of Perrie’s features will involuntarily shapeshift in her rage. He’s kind of disappointed that it was only her hair this time. Usually, when he’s really trying, he can get her nose and mouth to turn into a duck bill.

“You know it’s true, love.”

Perrie mumbles something indignant, but doesn’t fight further, going back to lacing up her arm guards. She doesn’t get a chance to say much more, because Madame Hooch enters the changing room, sounds her whistle and announces that the match will be starting in ten minutes.

When that ten minutes is up, and Louis has given his team the pep talk of the century (honestly, he might as well be captain), they kick off into the air and assume their positions.

Madame Hooch throws the Quaffle high into the air, ducking out of sight immediately. Within seconds, Louis watches Jesy take possession, speeding through the air towards the Gryffindor goalpost. He takes the quickest route, ducking under the players to follow her path from below.

“Jesy Nelson wastes no time!” Niall’s voice echoes over the shouting crowd. “She's dodging Bludgers and Beaters alike! Past Potter, around Edwards, up and over Captain Rose Weasley! I feel sorry for anyone that's got any money on this one.”

Louis glances at Liam just in time to see him roll his eyes.

“Jesy!” he calls over the noise. She spots him immediately, as she always does when they run their signature opening play. It never fails.

She lobs the Quaffle to him just as she narrowly misses being hit by a Gryffindor-sent Bludger. He locks eyes with Liam, whose usual frantic puppy-dog face has taken on its steady glare that appears for Quidditch only. His gloved hands tighten on his broom as Louis zooms closer, ready to make a snap decision to block Louis’ attempted scoring.

Fortunately, Louis’ reflexes have always been better than Liam’s. He sees Liam’s entire body twitch towards the left, the side he's coming in from, and at the very last second, soars to the far right goal post, sending the Quaffle straight through it.

“That's ten points for Slytherin not a minute into the match! This is gonna be a good one folks, might wanna film it.”

As Louis angles his broom back towards the center of the pitch, he thinks he hears McGonagall mutter something about ‘bloody Muggle trinkets’ along with a slurping sound that must be coming from Niall’s mobile phone.

“On your left there, Tommo!”

A Bludger whizzes by his head, closely followed by a Gryffindor Beater. Louis can't tell who it is, but he follows their flight path with his eyes and he finds the Gryffindor Chaser that's got a hold of the Quaffle. When he takes off after them, he's not too worried, knows that they'll win this.

 

Two hours pass, and Louis starts to worry.

Gryffindor is up by fifty and counting. Slytherin’s Keeper, Dana, is all off her game today, and has been since tryouts. Had Louis been made captain instead of that _idiot_ – No, Louis needs to focus on the match.

He runs several plays through his head, trying to catch Jade’s attention to see which course of action to take. But players keep blocking his field of vision, and she's too busy trying to locate the Quaffle to pay him any mind. A Bludger nearly hits Louis in the face, adding to the anxiety that's piling up in his chest. If she would just _see him_ then she'd know that little Lily Potter has been zooming back and forth with the Quaffle under her arm.

Louis’ patience runs out quickly, and as he dodges a Beater’s bat for the tenth time, he decides to take matters into his own very capable hands.

“Tommo takes the Quaffle right out from under Potter’s nose! He's always been one to lecture on the importance of a firm grip– Ouch! Sorry, professor, I couldn't resist.” Niall doesn't sound the least bit sorry. “He's passed it along to Nelson, who takes it up to Payno and… Misses! Slytherin truly aren't living up to their quick start today, and it seems the Snitch doesn't want to be found. Seekers Leigh-Anne and Aiden look quite lost, squinting around, and the sun is only an hour off from setting.”

For a Slytherin, Louis wishes Niall’s commentary wasn't so morbid. It's killing what remaining hope he had left for this game.

“I spoke too soon!”

The entire stadium perks up, taking an impressively collective inhale.

“It seems that Slytherin Seeker Aiden Grimshaw has spotted the Snitch! Captain Payno is looking frantic, trying to get his team to score once more, but if Grim catches it– it's all over!”

Louis is holding his breath, watching intently and unmoving as Aiden zooms through the air with Leigh-Anne hot on his heels. She's really too close for comfort, and about five feet from sending Louis into cardiac arrest.

“This is the moment everyone! He's reaching for it! He's nearly there! He's–”

Louis is suddenly blinded by a blow to the side of his head, and loses consciousness the moment his fingers lose contact with his broomstick.

 

Darkness greets Louis when he opens his eyes again, and his initial thought is that he must be dead.

Upon further inspection, which includes lots of wriggling around, pain blooms from the side of Louis’ head to the very bottoms of his feet and informs him that he's very much alive. He can't help but whimper when the first bit of hurt rips across his vision and turns it white. By the time his eyes have adjusted again, two sets of hands are on him, pinning him to the cot.

Madame Pomfrey’s voice resonates with him first.

“You need to stay lying down– A head injury like that!”

His ear is ringing something awful, and all he can do is groan and struggle against his human bindings, silently begging for relief.

“Love, if you stay still she can give you something for the pain.” It's Harry. Stupid, wonderful Harry is by his bedside. “You're just making it worse for yourself. Take a deep breath.”

“What–” his words barely make it to his own ears. “What happened?”

“Got knocked in the side of the head with a Bludger. You f-fell, nearly broke your neck on the ground, I–” Harry seems to barely be keeping it together. “No one was paying attention. The Bludgers had to have been tampered with. They kept coming after you, I _saw_ –”

“Mr. Styles, please.” Madame Pomfrey has the right idea. “You're going to cause him further stress. Perhaps we can talk about it once his skull has finished healing.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Harry whines, draping his body over Louis’. “I’ve just never been so scared in my life.”

It reminds Louis of a story he heard once, where even in his disoriented state, lying in a hospital bed, he possesses just enough cognitive presence to be irritated by how clingy Harry is being. The thought is almost involuntary, flitting across his scrambled brain, guilt following closely behind.

“I'll be fine, Harry. You should get some rest, I'll still be here in the morning.”

Louis tries to pretend that he doesn't see the hurt that crosses Harry's face. It turns into a pout, then a small smile, then a kiss that gets pressed to Louis’ cheek.

“Goodnight, Lou.”

Louis’ cheeks burn red for all the wrong reasons as he watches Harry retreat from behind the curtain.

“Goodnight.”

✦✧✦

The Slytherin common room usually takes on an air of chaos on Friday nights. Tonight is no different.

News of Louis’ concussion and skull fracture spread quickly throughout the school. Most of the student body had witnessed it first hand, and those who didn't were told within the first hour or so of it happening. It took three days for everyone to collectively decide how best to make Louis’ life miserable, and now he's tucked up in bed trying to get away from it.

Since the accident, most of the Slytherins have taken to being extra loud around Louis. Tonight, the night he'd kindly asked his roommates to keep the noise to minimum not only to reduce his chances of a splitting headache, but so he could attempt to catch up on the coursework he's missed, they've all decided to throw the first raging party of term.

Louis couldn't even hear the scratch of his quill over the pounding bass of some awful Muggle music that he's been vocal about despising. No spell or enchantment that he holds in his limited arsenal can quell the noise. He's resorted to holding a pillow over his head and crying.

He's sure his drunk housemates won't notice him leaving, so he gathers up his work and his robes and shuffles down the single flight of stairs, wincing with each beat as he gets closer to the speakers.

The Slytherins, ever so kindly, have put them directly next to the common room entrance.

Thankfully, as he counts the lucky stars he's never possessed, he makes it into the corridor undetected.

As Head Boy, Scorpius gets his own dormitory, much to Louis’ dismay. He used to be just a few paces away for Louis to confide in on nights that curfews are extra strict, but now Louis only has Jesy. As sweet as she is, it's hard for her to give Louis the advice he needs. Scorpius knows what it's like to comfort someone who's been bullied for their house placement, and Louis really appreciates the recycled help.

“ _Fortitudo_ ,” Louis whispers at the portrait door, grateful that he doesn't have to solve a riddle with the agonising headache he has.

Upon entering, Louis realises that he should have warned that he was coming. The sound of the portrait door slamming closed behind him causes some scuffling and just as Louis rounds the corner he’s met with the sight of two rumpled Slytherins: one Scorpius and one Albus.

Oddly enough, Scorpius lets out a sigh at the sight of him.

“Ever knock?”

Louis just stands there awkwardly, trying to calculate how quickly he'd have to move to escape this particular situation. The longer he waits, the less likely him leaving becomes.

“Suppose not.” Scorpius begins buttoning up his shirt, fixing his tangled blonde hair. “You gonna stand there all night, Tommo?”

Louis truly cannot move.

Albus copies his boyfriend’s movements. “I think we've scarred him.”

Louis forces himself to snap out of it, and scoffs. “I've seen and _done_ much worse, I'll have you know.”

“He speaks!”

“You alright? Your face is all red,” Scorpius says.

Louis is suddenly reminded why he's there.

“I was um… Trying to do an essay. It’s past due. There's a party. Couldn't concentrate.”

He realises then that he probably looks pretty pitiful, with this hair a mess from running his fingers through it, pyjamas rumpled, and coursework stuffed into his half open rucksack. Albus and Scorpius are looking at him like concerned parents, settling next to each other on the sofa.

“Slytherins can be such dickheads,” Albus points out.

Scorpius tries to ignore him, but smirks in spite of himself. “C’mon and sit for a mo’, I'll let you sleep in our– my.” He blinks. “My room.” A tense moment that Louis doesn’t have the energy to invest himself in passes. He deposits himself on the opposite sofa none too gently, wincing at the pain that shoots through his head. “Are you sure you should be stressing yourself out like this?” His hand slides into Albus’ seemingly subconsciously.

“Um. Yeah. S’just Care of Magical Creatures, how to treat D–”

“You’re taking that?” Albus interrupts. “Thought you wanted to do Potions?”

Louis finds it odd that Albus knows that, considering how little they’ve spoken to each other. The look on his face must say as much.

“My dad talks about you a lot,” Scorpius explains.

“He really does,” Albus agrees.

“Right.” Louis is struggling to keep his eyes open. “I’m just exploring all my options. Branching out–”

“Louis?”

He immediately perks up at Harry’s voice, whipping around to find him despite the throbbing in his head. It’s a reflex he’s developed over the years, involuntary and somewhat regrettably.

“Harry? What are you doing here?” And it’s not that he doesn't want to see Harry, but he doesn't want it to appear that Harry wasn't his first choice for help and comfort. Which, he wasn’t, but he doesn't want Harry reading too much into it.

“Thought you were staying at your dormitory tonight.”

Harry looks worried, eyes frantic as though Louis had seriously gone missing. Louis is half afraid that he might cry. Lines wrinkle the skin of his forehead as his hands do the same to the front of his sleep shirt, faded blue turning grey. All that’s left of the raven that was pictured on it when they met is the slightly off-colour outline of it that was once white.

“It was too loud,” Louis says carefully. “Couldn’t focus.”

Albus saves them from what would’ve been another awkward silence.

“Harry? Why don’t you go with Louis to our room. You two can sleep there tonight, we’ll stay here. Help him with his work if you can, yeah? If not, I’ll help tomorrow. Fresh heads, right?”

Harry starts nodding wordlessly, and begins shuffling towards Louis. Louis doesn’t know what else to do but stand up and begin gathering his books. But before he can, they’re being pulled away by an invisible force.

“You can meet them there,” Scorpius supplies, wand out, and sending Louis’ things to the bedroom just behind them.

Louis can only offer him silent thanks, because suddenly Harry is grabbing his hand and he’s focusing all his energy into not pulling away and shoving his own in his hoodie pocket.

Once in the room, Harry just silently moves towards the bed, pulls the covers back and looks back at Louis.

“You alright?” Louis has to ask. “You’re awfully quiet.”

Harry nods, now looking anywhere but at Louis. “Was worried. Didn’t know where you were.”

Louis isn’t good at this, the comforting, so he goes for what he thinks Harry might do. He crosses the room, takes Harry’s face between his hands, and lands him a peck on the nose. He doesn’t know why he does it, but it seems to quell Harry’s anxiety, because a smile quirks at his lips.

“I’m alright. Just needed to get away; you know how they get.”

“Unfortunately.” Harry’s face is flushed red, now. “Bed?”

Louis drops his hands back to his sides. “Bed. Careful with me though, I’m an injured man.”

Harry scoffs. “Man.”

“Excuse you, I’m almost sixteen.”

Harry doesn’t argue further, just kicks off his awful slippers, pulls Louis in by his waist, and draws the duvet up to their chins. He’s snoring softly before Louis can even utter a goodnight.

And it’s not the cuddling that bothers Louis so much as it’s Harry holding onto him like he might be stolen from him. Louis knows better than anyone that he’s Harry’s whole world and the fact that he doesn’t feel the same sits like a weight on his chest. He can’t offer that same desire for constant contact, loud declarations of love. He can’t bear for Harry, even in sleep, to want nothing more than Louis close to him, when all Louis can think about is all the coursework he’s behind on while simultaneously figuring out how to get some space to _breathe_ without waking Harry up.

He’s not strong enough to lift Harry’s weight off of him, too tired and his headache is returning tenfold. It’s all he can do to let the pressure behind his eyes settle and fall into a fitful sleep.

✦✧✦

After two weeks of recovery and being coddled by Harry, walking shouldn't be such a challenge. Louis can't seem to walk straight, even with all of bones fully healed. But with his rucksack so heavy, dragging him and his weakened limbs sideways, it's twice as hard.

He's running late to begin with, trying to do up his tie and fix his hair at the same time. It's been too long since he's had the freedom to groom himself to his liking, and while it's nice, he finds himself getting tired already. He's not mad at Harry, per sé, just a little frustrated at how smothered he's felt. He refused to go home to let his mum look after him and it seemed that Harry made it his mission to fill the role tenfold.

Louis chances a look at his reflection on the black screen of his phone, and when he looks back up he's being slammed into with all the power of a baby hippogriff. His rucksack flops onto the floor, spilling half of its contents.

“Oi! Watch where you're goin’!”

Louis doesn't have the energy to deal with this.

“Or maybe just move your fat arse,” Louis grumbles under his breath as he gathers his potion’s notes. They're smudged now, with ink from the bottle that popped open, which is great.

Much to Louis’ luck, the nameless bull that's just run into him apparently has supersonic hearing and a temper to match. The boy is red faced and storming back towards Louis from down the corridor, wand out and looking no older than a third year.

He's still much larger than Louis.

“What did you say? You filthy traitor, you should _watch out_.”

“I really don't have time for this,” Louis says offhandedly. He tries to shuffle past the angry Slytherin boy, but doesn't get very far before a wand is poking at the back of his neck. “Seriously, I have class–”

He starts walking again, only to hear _Diffindo_ growled behind him followed by a sharp pain in his back.

The entire corridor falls relatively silent as he falls to the ground. A few gasps slip through, but it's mostly Louis’ groaning that he hears in his own ears.

“Perhaps you should watch your back, _Tomlinson_.”

He spits Louis’ name like it's a slur, and stands there cackling as Louis stares at the blood on his fingers. Surely the fuzziness in his head is because he's waking up from this horrible dream.

“Louis?”

A ridiculous clatter follows the concerned uttering of his name.

“Christ, why are you all just– just standing here!? Get some _help_ !” Of all people, it's _Nick_. He sounds like he's about to cry. “Are you insane?!” he calls back down the hall to nobody, “Using a bloody offensive spell on someone behind their– Shit, Louis are you okay? I-I mean, obviously not but can you– um. C-can you… I– God, that’s a lot of blood.”

Louis doesn't know how to respond. He wants to fire back a sarcastic comment, because he’ll be damned before he slips up in their biting dynamic. What he does do, however, is fall face first into Nick’s arms and start crying.

“Wh-why does it always h-have to be _me?_ ”

“I.” Nick sounds utterly lost. “I-I dunno, but we've got to get you to the hospital wing. You– You're cut up pretty bad. Can you walk?”

It's by far the stupidest question Louis has heard all day.

“ _Not particularly,”_ he manages through gritted teeth.

“Alright, well…” Nick is silent for too long, and Louis has to pinch his thigh to remind him that he's practically bleeding to death. “I’m–” he turns to the dregs of the nosey crowd lingering around, “Will you lot just clear out if you're not going to help!? Go on!”

As soon as footsteps start retreating from the corridor, Nick starts peeling off Louis’ robes.

“Wh-what are you– Don’t _undress_ me.” Louis tries to resist. “Stop it, just t-take me to the hospit– _Ouch_.”

“Sorry, I–. There isn't _time–”_

Nick shushes him and carries on. He doesn't speak again until after he's reached over Louis to retrieve something.

“You like potions, I'm sure you've got yourself a bag of tricks here– Aha.” He sounds like he's trying to say it calmly, but his voice is shaking just as badly as Louis’ whole body. “This is gonna sting a bit.”

‘A bit’ really means enough that with the first drop Louis has to bite his lip hard enough that it bleeds in order to stop from screaming his lungs out. The pain radiates from the cut, all the way to the very base of his neck. It goes on for much too long, but once his skin has stopped fizzling and he stops feeling as though he's being clawed apart by a rabid niffler, he tries to catch his breath.

“ _What on earth_ have you done to me?!” He's curled up on the floor and trembling half in Nick’s lap, so it comes out much less menacing than he intends.

Several pairs of footsteps round the corner, and it's Draco’s voice that he hears first.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?!”

Nick’s voice comes out in a squeak. “Essence of Dittany.”

 

Madame Pomfrey doesn’t seem at all surprised to see Louis being carried bridal style into the hospital wing by Nick Grimshaw. In fact, she looks as though she'd been expecting him. Maybe it’s Louis imagination.

“Back again so soon, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“I just can't stay away,” he manages. It's more of a grunt than anything.

Nick sets him down on the nearest bed, handing Louis his robes. If he weren't in so much pain, Louis would be able to appreciate how uncomfortable Nick seems to be with this entire situation.

As it is, he remains silent as Madame Pomfrey magically removes his bloodstained shirt and the hoard of teachers ushers Nick off to question him.

“You got very lucky here, Mr. Tomlinson. Those were some pretty deep gashes, you could've bled out before you got here were it not for the Dittany. A smart move.”

“It, um,” Louis winces as she prods at his back, “Wasn't my idea. Nick, he… He got it from my bag. Didn't even remember that I'd had it.”

“Good on him, then.” Her voice is unwavering, like it happens all the time. Then again, she _was_ here when Harry Potter was in school. “I'm going to have to put more on, but it'll sting a little less. As soon as the cuts have healed completely, I’ll remove the scars as best I can and you'll be free to go.”

Louis is suddenly hit with a rush of gratitude for Nick coming to his rescue when no one else did. But he didn't get the chance to thank him.

✦✧✦

“Gosh, Lou, you really have to stop getting yourself hurt.”

Harry greets him as though the incident had happened just this morning, and not nearly a week ago. It's an odd habit that Harry has, pretending as though he's just seen you.

He wraps Louis up in much-too-tight a hug, then proceeds to sandwich Louis’ face in his hands. He doesn't kiss Louis, just looks at him in this dumbstruck, concerned way that has Louis schooling his features into something resembling a smile.

“What do you say we go out to celebrate? Madame Puddifoot’s is usually pretty empty around this time, I think.”

Before Louis can say no, his mouth is saying, “Yeah, of course,” and suddenly a bell is tinkling above his head and he’s stepping into a pink hell.

For one thing, it isn’t empty.

And for another, Louis has always hated Madame Puddifoot’s. In fact, he stealthily managed to avoid it at all costs for six straight years. The place has a permanent air of sickly teen romance and almost always looks as though St. Valentine himself vomited all over it. Adorned with pink ribbons and streamers, heart shaped confetti falling in a near constant stream, golden cupids watching over each table, it’s Louis’ worst nightmare come true. This is where people hold hands and snog across the table. Louis just wants to talk about Potions and his sisters. He’s not so sure he can do that while feeling as though he’s crawling out of his skin with the expectation of Harry probably telling him how in love with Louis he is for the three hundredth time over heart shaped biscuits.

It’s worse, though, because Harry pulls him into a booth. Louis looks at the empty seat across from them and wonders why Harry would make them squish into the smallest possible space when they could sit comfortably and also be able see each other. But then Harry’s foot wraps around the back of Louis’ ankle, and suddenly Harry’s arms are around Louis’ waist, and it makes perfect sense. Louis doesn’t like it.

They haven’t even ordered yet and Louis already feels about ready to go. Harry’s chin resting on his shoulder only has the effect of making it feel like there are about a thousand eyes on them, that they’re being judged just as harshly as Louis was previously judging everyone else.

Harry starts yammering in his ear suddenly, probably something about the menu or a complaint about how he could bake the sweets better. But all Louis can focus on is the tightening in his chest that comes with Harry being too affectionate, too openly obvious about how _bloody in love_ he is. Louis longs to know what it feels like, longs to be able to reciprocate, give Harry what he deserves. Unfortunately, Louis is only capable of staring at the frilly white table cloth before him and taking very shallow breaths through his nose.

His only saving grace is when a waitress arrives, and Harry has the decency to disentangle his body from Louis’ as he orders. Louis tries to wait, but the moment he’s free from Harry’s embrace he can feel the dam break, and his eyes well up against his will. He excuses himself as best he can, thinks he tells Harry to surprise him. Louis knows that he won’t be able to stomach anything anyway.

The loos are empty when he gets there, so he stumbles into a stall and lets the single pent up sob that he was holding in bounce off the pink stainless steel around him. He doesn’t know what’s _wrong_ with him. Six years ago he’d happily cuddle up to Harry, to anyone for that matter, at any given time. Louis is a tactile person, constantly looking for physical attention and was thrilled when a constant source of that finally presented itself in the form of a boyfriend. That’s why, in his head, none of this makes sense.

One thing for certain though, is that he has to tell Harry. The thought alone makes his lungs close up all over again. He thinks back to the hushed conversation Harry had with Liam in the hall weeks back, before the accident, before anything, and he almost wishes that one of them would confront him about it. It would certainly save him the anxiety of trying to find the courage to bring it up himself.

He brings his hands up to his face just as the door squeals open again, startling him and making his heart jump. Louis does his best not to sniffle into the dead silence. His best isn’t good enough, though, because he’s suddenly crying audibly on top of the sniffles and whoever is in here knows exactly what’s going on.

He holds his breath for as long as he can as he listens to the tap run and footsteps stop, then retreat. When the bathroom is miraculously empty again, he realises he’s been gone for much too long.

When he looks in the mirror, he’s faced with himself, looking nothing at all like he feels. But of course it’d be him who has a storm of uncertainty and panic raging inside of him while his face is ready to give a smile. So he counts his lucky stars, splashes his face with water, and steps back into the din of the café.  

Harry’s waiting for him with flushed cheeks and a grin, a kettle of tea and plate stacked with biscuits in front of him on the table. Louis is able to return the smile though his stiff cheeks protest, but Harry doesn’t notice.

He does notice, however, when Louis sits across from him rather than beside. Harry quirks his eyebrows almost imperceptibly, but doesn't mention it.

“I got the red ones with the white sprinkles,” he says. “The ones I brought you for exams last year, y’know?”

Louis nods, but the thought of eating anything makes his stomach twist all over again.

“You alright? You were gone a while.”

Louis can only stare at the table in front of him, but he can tell that Harry’s probably looking at him with his big doe eyes the way he always does. It’s different from the way eleven year old Harry used to look at him, Louis has come to find. Fifteen year old Harry has this way of looking at him and knowing the answers. Five years ago, Harry was all curiosity, picking Louis apart with every prolonged stare that left him blushing when he got caught. Louis is afraid that Harry can see exactly what’s wrong, but even so, neither of them make anything of it.

“I’m alright, just got a bit distracted looking in the mirror.” He takes a biscuit and begins to pick the sprinkles off. Because he hadn’t the heart to tell Harry he didn’t like sprinkles. “I’m just too beautiful. Couldn’t bear tear my eyes away.”

“Yeah.” Harry takes a sip of his tea, obvlious to the terrified thoughts bouncing off the walls of Louis’ skull. “I can definitely see that.”

✦✧✦

Days pass of headaches and empty mugs, Chocolate Frog wrappers piling up at the end of Louis’ bed. All he can think about is how shit a boyfriend he is. His essays lie half done, all of his assigned reading dog-eared and forgotten.

He thought that potion making would be the one thing unaffected by his inner quarrelling, but the mixture in Louis’ cauldron is turning grey when it should be bright pink. It's really an excellent metaphor for the dilemma that continues to bubble inside of him.

Most of his thoughts over the days following his freak out in Madame Puddifoot’s have been preoccupied with how to avoid Harry and how to tell Harry that he’s not _in love_ with him. He still really isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean. But by the way Harry goes on about it, Louis can tell that it’s not something he’s ever been close to feeling. He loves Harry, he really does, and doesn’t want to hurt him. So, he’s doing the most logical thing, which is staying away from him at all costs.

His potion let’s out a puff of smoke.

“Need some help there, Tomlinson?”

“I don’t know when your voice became a regular occurance in my ear, but I don’t appreciate it, Grimshaw.”

Louis drops his stirrer, giving up for the most part. The potion is unsalvageable, for the first time in his life, and he feels about ready to down it himself, just to make sure.

“You’ve added too much Unicorn horn.”

Louis turns around to look at Nick, something he wouldn’t normally have done before Nick saved his life. He crosses his arms. Just because Nick has seen him at his most vulnerable doesn’t mean he should give up appearances.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business– Can I _help_ you?”

Nick is actually peering over Louis’ shoulder to get a look into the cauldron, chin nearly resting on Louis’ shoulder. It’s entirely too close, and makes Louis twist away from him dramatically. The smug smirk that Nick usually wears on his face in Louis’ presence dissipates and he takes a large step backwards, looking sheepish.

“I, um, I wasn’t sure if it was you… a few days ago, you know? In Madame Puddifoot’s? But I saw you go in before me– the toilets – and I just.” He sighs. “Are you alright?”

Nick is holding a small container of Doxy eggs, looking seconds away from crushing it between his fingers with nerves. Louis thinks that Nick might be having an anxiety attack.

He doesn't know what to say. He hates Nick, famously, and has probably spoken two words to him that weren't insults over the last six years. On the contrary, he doesn't really have anything against Nick – besides the fact that his head is so large – but he's also quite tired of lying. He's just not sure that Nick Grimshaw is the person to open up to, nor that this is an appropriate time. He won't know until he tries it, though.

So he says, “No, not really,” as noncommittally as he can.

Nick’s frown only deepens.

“Okay. Uh. I mean that, um– I know that, like, we're not really friends. But,” he won't meet Louis’ eyes, “I would kind of hate it? If– if you weren't alright, as you might've noticed. So. What I'm saying, I think, is that if you, like—”

Louis can only take so much of his rambling.

“Nicholas. Please. For both our sake’s. Just spit it out.”

“Just.” Nick looks pained. “If you need anything? I'll try my best. Harry’s like, my best friend, y’know. So I'd like to help. If I can. By extension of wanting to help Harry.”

Louis takes in Nick’s blushing face, mussed up hair. His yellow and black tie is half undone, probably from nerves. Louis just can't wrap his head around this being the second time they've interacted without Louis calling him a knob-headed beanpole. He looks earnest, like he genuinely means well, and Louis’ heart swells. There aren't many people at Hogwarts who would go out of their way to offer help to Louis Tomlinson, the sham Slytherin.

Louis crosses his arms, and looks at Nick very seriously.

“I appreciate that,” he says, “Even if you are just doing it for Harry.” Nick looks ready to protest, but Louis doesn't let him. “ _And_ I didn't get a chance to thank you for what you did for me. I might've died had you not been there and I don't take that lightly so I really owe you one, Grim.”

“It was nothing–”

That's utterly ridiculous. “It wasn't nothing, Nick. Really, thank you. If you ever need a favour.”

Louis turns back to his potion, ready for the conversation to be over. There's hardly a potion to turn back to. His cauldron is a sad sight, spitting sparks and bubbling hideously.

“I think,” comes Nick’s voice once more, “If you add a bit more Fluxweed, turn down the flame,” he reaches over Louis and does just that.

Miraculously, the mixture inside the cauldron stops trying to attack Louis, and goes back to the simmering grey that Louis had left it at. He watches as Nick picks up his abandoned stirrer, and stirs the liquid five times anticlockwise and three times clockwise. Nick is incredibly focused in a way that Louis never knew he could be, and it, much to Louis’ surprise, saves his potion. It turns bubblegum pink, just the way it's supposed to.

“How did you–”

Nick smiles. “No potion is hopeless.”

Louis disagrees, but he doesn't say so, just flicks off the burner below his cauldron and places the lid on.

“How'd you get so good at this?”

“Dunno, actually,” Nick shrugs, looking entirely too unfazed. “It's one of my many mystery talents. I don't even want to pursue anything in it, so I suppose it's a bit of a waste.”

“What _do_ you want to do then.”

Nick’s grin widens. “Radio. Would love to work at the WWN. Been my dream for a while now.”

Louis can see that. Nick’s got the voice for it. He doesn't know why he thinks that.

“You'll get there.” Louis turns back to his cauldron, for good this time. “Thanks again.”

“No problem, I'll see you around.”

Nick’s hands flit into Louis’ periphery to take his container of Doxy eggs, and he disappears.

✦✧✦

The Three Broomsticks probably isn't the most ideal place for a nap. But it's getting colder outside everyday so Louis can't kip under a solitary oak tree, and he doesn't think his spine can take another second curled up in one of the stone niches on the seventh floor. So he takes his chances with the noise, and spends his short break between classes in a booth, hunched over the table with his dark green hoodie cushioning his face.

But he can't fall asleep.

The rhythmic ticking of the alarm clock that he transfigured the tablecloth into keeps him awake. He's too tired to think up a spell to silence it, and he's afraid that if he did, he would silence the alarm as well and make himself horribly late for Care of Magical Creatures.

His mind keeps racing, springing up memories of his childhood. It's been happening a lot the past week or so, following the incident at Madame Puddifoot’s. He doesn't know what it means, and doesn't care to find out, only bothered by the fact that try as he might, he can't remember anything before he was adopted.

Louis rubs at his face, head still resting on his parka. He really doesn't see any reason for everyone to be so _loud_.

He can picture himself riding his first broomstick, learning how to play Exploding Snap, the first time he visited Diagon Alley. It's him and his parents, almost a decade’s worth of memories. He remembers coming home for the first time, confused but grateful. The first time the front door opened, and the grand staircase was laid out before him.

But he can't remember meeting his mum and dad. He can't remember why he was adopted. He can't remember his family before the Tomlinson’s.

The noise doesn't die down around him, and as his consciousness returns to the present, he becomes aware of the weight on his chest.

Why can't he remember?

 

Louis ends up being spectacularly late to Care of Magical Creatures. He stumbles into the Forbidden Forest at half past one, and is met with thirty three pairs of eyes on him. It's not the first time he's been late, and it certainly won't be the last, so Professor Corden doesn't even bother telling him off. He just continues in his lecture with so much as a disappointed quirk of his lips.

It doesn't do much to keep the whispers at bay, because it turns out that nowadays even Hufflepuffs aren't too kind to slander Louis behind his back. House stereotypes really are falling apart.

He pushes past them, ignoring their loud speculation of his tardiness, and makes his way to the front. There he finds Zayn, perched on a rock and taking colour coded notes. It's a sight to behold.

“Hey, mate.”

Zayn shushes him.

“Good talk.”

Louis turns around, looking around for anyone who might be willing to listen to his horror story of the trip from Hogsmeade to the Forest. Much to his luck, instead of a friendly face he's met with long lashes, a freckled nose, and giant, happy eyes that only a person with a giant head could own.

“I'm always up for a chat if you'd like.”

He really can't catch a break.

“Is consoling me mid-crisis your new pastime, Grimshaw?”

Zayn shushes him again, so he turns around, grabs Nick, and pulls him to the back of the crowd.

“I'm in this class,” Nick informs him. “Have been since September. Didn't know you worked so hard at ignoring my existence. I'm flattered.”

“I haven't been, you’re just not particularly noticeable, are you?” Louis doesn’t know when he got so mean. “You've only just started thinking that since you saved my life I _want_ to talk to you.”

“Do you?”

Louis squints at him, adjusting the scarf around his neck.

“Do I what? Want to talk to you? What do you think?”

“I think…” Nick takes several moments to fix his hair. “I think you secretly do, because you can tell we have a lot in common even though you pretend to hate me.”

Louis’ mouth opens to say something in agreement, but apparently the only thing he can manage when faced with Nick Grimshaw is contradiction for the sake of it. It's a reflex.

“It's not _pretend_ , Grimshaw. I've genuinely hated you since you so kindly ruined my Astronomy project first year.”

Nick’s jaw drops. “ _That's_ why you hate me? That was an–”

“Yes, it is. And I will continue to hate you for it until you apologise. Have a nice day.”

Louis doesn't particularly want to hear Nick’s half-witted response to his blatant lie, so he turns and goes back to find Zayn. The class is beginning to disperse now, clearly over.

Louis has the decency to look sheepish as he approaches the rumpled Ravenclaw.

“Can I, um–”

“I'll text them to you.”

Louis plants a wet kiss on Zayn’s cheek.

“Love you, bro.”

Zayn grunts in response. “Need to sleep.”

The fatigue that had vanished in Louis’ adrenaline rush when he realised he was late for class returns suddenly.

“Agree with you there.” He can't fight off the yawn that surfaces. “S’your room empty? Know that Harry has Runes now. Could kip there.”

Zayn nods, reciprocating the arm that Louis hadn't realised he'd thrown around his shoulders.

“Sounds good to me.”

The only thing Louis lets himself think about is how amazing it's going to feel when his head comes to rest on Zayn’s pillow.

✦✧✦

The flashing headline on the front page of _The Daily Prophet_ is unsettling in itself, but coupled with the photo beneath it makes Louis sick to his stomach.

 **_GRINGOTTS EMPLOYEE CAUGHT ROBBING VAULT_ ** **_  
_ ** _Tomlinson (pictured below) was caught in the act of stealing from a dead man’s vault at Gringotts bank._

  

> _A respectable employee of the bank for twenty-five years, his colleagues were stunned to find him stuffing a pouch that was under an Undetectable Extension Charm. Over a three thousand Galleons worth of coins, jewelry, and antiques were recovered from the bag. The late, unnamed victim has no family so-to-speak, and charges will be carried out by the Wizengamot for privacy and policy violations._
> 
> _The vault in question was low security. Officials say steps will be taken to ensure that lower paying customers can be as secure as possible in the safety of their belongings._
> 
> _Tomlinson resides in Greater Manchester with his wife, and adopted son, Louis, who is currently in school at Hogwarts._

 

His father’s face stares back at him, almost unrecognisable in the harsh white of the camera flashes. He's being dragged through the lobby of the Ministry, arms pinned to his sides by two Patrol officers.

The Great Hall falls just as silent as Louis as one by one the kids who get sent the paper every morning see the day’s breaking news. After the initial hush, the whispers start. His own housemates start staring, their eyes wide. Louis can't bring himself to stop looking around, to stop seeing everyone looking at him knowing that his family, the one he never asked to be brought into is now the target of public shame.

Harry’s hand finds its way into his, and the discomfort of the sentiment behind it only serves to make Louis’ stomach twist into a tighter knot. He rips his hand away, panic settling in, and he can't seem to leave the hall fast enough.

His feet move on their own, navigating through the castle without his knowledge of where they're taking him. All he can focus on is what's going to happen now. It's almost as if he wasn't teased enough for his house placement, his minimally involved parents, his social isolation.

Louis hopes with everything in him that no one has followed him when he collapses onto the steps at the base of the clocktower. His eyes are burning red, pressure behind them building the more he tries to stop it. He doesn't know why, seeing as he's alone now, wind ruffling his unstyled hair. Louis wishes he could appreciate the drastic change in the weather, how this is the first time this year that he's stepped outside before noon _actually_ in need of the layers he's got on, and more. His mind almost drifts. Almost. He has a blissful moment of realisation hat Christmas holidays are drawing near. But then he's hit with the truth of the matter; His dad probably won't even be home for the holidays, and is mother is unlikely to speak to him without a buffer between them. He doubts he's going to be welcome anywhere else, if not even the house he's still reluctant to call home.

Louis gathers up a pile of dead leaves and twigs, encircles them in stones like he saw in one of Zayn’s Muggle films that he loves. He casts _Incendio_ on the leaves and watches it burn. His mind is muddled, suddenly realising that he could have conjured bluebell flames instead.

“Lou?”

Louis gets a good look at Liam’s Gryffindor slippers just before his eyes well up with tears again.

He means to tell Liam to go away, leave him alone, something harsh and biting that will scare him off. But the moment he opens his mouth, all that comes out is the result of pent up frustration and fear from the past hour– from this entire school year so far. His cries shake his whole body, and Liam quickly moves to gather him up, holding him tight like he's afraid Louis will cry himself into a million sad, lonely pieces.

“It'll be alright. I'm sure it was a misunderstanding. Everyone's gonna forget by tomorrow, anyway. They'll latch onto some other rumor.”

He'd believe Liam’s words were it not for the simple fact that what Hogwarts tends to latch onto is any rationale to condone their biased hatred towards Louis. Six years and nothing has changed; It’s just fuel in the fire.

Louis shakes his head vehemently, gripping Liam’s arm like it's the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“S’just gonna get worse, Li. It's al- it's already. It– Fuck. They _know_.”

Liam’s warm against him, a comfort that he didn't really know he needed. He can hear the flame putter out, and he's surprised that he didn't accidentally set himself on fire with how haywire his emotions are at the moment. He thinks Liam is too.

“We've got your back, you know that. Fuck everyone else.”

Louis suddenly falls very numb, tears ceasing and shaking subsiding. He's so tired, wants nothing more than to sleep for a long while. But it's only Monday. It's only _morning_.

He pulls away from Liam, doesn't dare to look at him. Louis probably looks a mess with tired eyes and tear streaked cheeks.

“Did you tell Harry to come?”

Liam doesn't say anything, is probably shaking his head even though Louis isn't looking at him.

“No,” he says finally, “Did you want me to? I can go fetch him–”

“Don't.” Louis’ voice sounds like someone else’s. “I don't– I can't right now.”

On top of the weight of this newfound family drama, the crushing realisation that Louis is going to have to tell Harry the truth presses down on him. It's heavy icing on top of an already ten ton cake. He doesn't know if he can bear it.

“Harry, um. He actually wanted me to talk to you about something.” Liam sounds as though he'd rather do anything else. “He thinks–”

Louis decides to save him the trouble. “I know. Me and Zayn overheard you. I haven't stopped thinking about it and I.” He drops his head into his hands, presses hard against his eyes. “I have to tell him.”

Sweet, stupid Liam asks, “Tell him what.”

Louis laughs, a horribly self deprecating scoff that he thinks sums up his life pretty well.

“That I'm not in love with him.”

✦✧✦

It takes seven days, twelve hours, and forty-two minutes of mind numbing anxiety on Louis’ part for it to all come to a head.

He's withdrawn from Harry almost completely, dodging his texts and his persistent hare Patronus that hops around until you let it give you its message. Louis has had to avoid most of his friends because they keep coming to him with Harry’s worried words. He could pretend, he _could_ , because technically he was. Everything up until the very moment he'd figured out why this all felt so wrong feels like it was fake. How could he have shown someone so much love if he wasn't actually in love with them? It's scary, how he'd tricked himself. He feels like doesn't even know who he is anymore.

It's Zayn that gets Louis to talk to Harry in the end. A strongly worded letter had been hand delivered from Scorpius, who had been so kind as to let Louis hideout in his dormitory. Zayn’s very distinct scrawl had written _LOUIS!!!!_ across the front of a folded piece of parchment. After twenty minutes of agonising over the pitfalls of the impending conversation, Louis resigned to letting Zayn fetch Harry, who had stormed into the bedroom with an air of anger that Louis didn't know was possible.

“What the _fuck_?” is what Harry starts with, and it makes Louis’ blood run cold and his face run hot.

All he can do is stare, because he really doesn't know.

“Could you just–”

“No, no I can't.” Harry looks exasperated and annoyed. Louis can tell that he's trying to appear unaffected, but he's never been good at that. Harry is an open book, wears his heart on his face.

Louis begs with his eyes, lifting his hands and dropping them onto his lap in defeat when Harry doesn't budge. His voice is a whisper when he asks, “Can you let me explain?”

The door slams shut behind Harry, startling himself and Louis. But Harry still doesn't move from where he's standing just across from Louis where he's perched on the edge of the bed.

“What could your excuse possibly be for what you've put me through, huh? I've barely seen you all year, Lou, and then you pull a disappearing act? Like I haven't already been worried enough with all that's been happening?” He's not annoyed with Louis, not visibly at least. He's upset, hurt and betrayed and it makes Louis feel like drowning the guilt in several gallons of Firewhiskey. “I know you've been different, that something's changed and I've been trying my hardest to keep from guessing what it is but… Don't you think you could've talked to me? Because you could've, Lou. It didn't have to end up this way. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm sorry if you didn't know that.” Harry looks down at his feet. “I thought I could still be your best friend before anything else.”

“Harry–”

He looks back up, bleary eyed and sniffling. “Just let me finish, alright? I just… I want you to know that I really do love you and just want what's best for you. If I've done something wrong you can tell me and I'll fix it but– Just. Please don't shut me out again.”

It's a punch to the gut, is what it is. Harry might as well have just bound his wrists and thrown him into the Black Lake. Or perhaps Louis could do that to himself to be exempt from the rest of this conversation.

“Could you please come sit down? I can't do this with you lurking over there.”

“I'm not _lurking_ –”

“You're lurking if I say you're lurking.” Louis nearly pitches forward off the bed from the force which Harry drops himself down onto it with. “Thanks.”

Louis hasn’t really looked at Harry in a while, maybe since school started. He hadn’t realised it then but Harry looks _older_. He can’t tell if it’s from how much shit Louis has been putting him through of if Harry is genuinely growing up very quickly and Louis has been missing it. He’s missing his best friend because too busy avoiding his boyfriend, and that right there convinces him that he has to do this.

Everything about Harry’s demeanor is tell him that he doesn’t want to hear what Louis is about to say. He’s wound tight like he’s expecting it, anticipating the blow.

“Look, before I say what I’m gonna say I just need you to know that I–”

Harry deflates. “What? That you care about me? That ‘it’s not you it’s me?’ Because if that’s what you’re gonna say, save it.”

“Harry,” Louis sighs, “Please.”

Harry exhales deeply. “I'm sorry. I just– It's been shit, y’know? I thought we were alright.”

“We _are_ alright Harry. You're my best friend. You're the only person in this damn castle that I don't think secretly hates me. I just want you to know that. I _need_ you to know that. I'm still the same person, I've never lied to you, and you're still the most important thing in my life, it's just that– I-I. God.” Louis has to look away, can't bear to watch the hurt bloom on Harry’s face. “I was just wrong, okay? I thought I knew how I felt but it's clearly more for you than it is for me. I'm sorry.”

Harry can tell that's not it and remains silent for an agonising moment that pulls Louis’ heart directly into his throat, forcing the words out.

“I'm not in love with you Harry. I just… don't feel _that way_ about you. I'm really sorry.”

Harry, who cried when he accidentally stepped on an escaped beetle, whose eyes refused to dry on the first day of summer hols because he was going to miss Louis. Harry, who notoriously weeps every time Nearly Headless Nick floats by because _his story is just so sad._ The very same Harry rises to his feet, emotionless and unwavering, and says,

“Well, that's that then.”

Louis doesn't know what to say because it can't end like this. “Harry, wait–”

“I just need some space, Lou, I'll see you around.”

When he's gone, the door sliding shut with barely a sound, Louis whips out his wand and blows up Scorpius’ bed with a poorly aimed _Confringo_. It takes him ten minutes to get the fire out, and another hour to give up on getting the wood chips to respond to his weak, slurred _Reparo_ s.

But that's that, he supposes.


	2. Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This is an incomplete, chaptered WIP that will not update regularly. It will consist of two parts, the first part being four chapters and the second being two.**
> 
> **This work deals with bullying, mild violence, self discovery, implied deaths, and mentions of war. The Underage tag is in reference to mentions of sex between underaged characters. Trigger warnings are subject to change for each chapter. Please check the Additional Tags before reading.**
> 
> **Spaces indicate a time jump within the same day, symbols indicate a longer passage of time.**

The smell of cigarette smoke sneaks its way up Louis’ nose the moment his foot touches the first spiral step. His stomach drops, a mixture of disappointment that he’s not going to be alone and fear that his secret hideout has been unearthed.

He should've known that upon entering he'd find Zayn curled up among their mountain of blankets. He's got a box of Cauldron Cakes open beside him, and holds it up in offering once he sees Louis.

In true Louis form, he takes the whole box.

He doesn't go far with it. In fact, he invades what may be considered personal space and burrows himself into Zayn’s half of the nest. Louis presses his body against Zayn’s, warmth creeping through his clothes. He’d spent the whole walk from the castle shivering madly in the early December cold, wind biting at his nose and ears because he refuses to wear a hat with a bauble on it. He presses his icy nose to Zayn’s cheek just to hear him grumble about it.

They're sat in what used to be the owlery, but is now Louis’ safe house. He's heard of what it used to be like, owls coming and going and lining the brick walls. That was before the Minister for Magic – Mrs. Granger-Weasley, ever the advocate for creatures’ rights – ordered that all owls were no longer to be used for communication once modern Muggle technology became commonplace among wizards. Over the years, Louis had Harry and Niall help him clean it out and cast countless charms and hexes over it to keep it hidden from everyone but the five of them. He's got blankets and food, piles of parchment for him to do his coursework, and if it weren't for the fact that he’s terrible at fire spells and the semi-strict rules of sixth year curfew, Louis would most definitely sleep here. Perhaps he could work on those bluebell flames.

“I miss him,” Louis says without any explanation. “He was good with shit like this. Always knew what to say to make me feel better. ‘s like he lived in my head more than his own.”

Even so, Zayn’s understanding silence is just as comforting as any of Harry’s whispered reassurances ever were.

Despite what Louis had hoped, Harry hasn't tried to talk to him. Every time their eyes meet across a table, a corridor, the bloody Quidditch Pitch, Harry turns away. He'll bury his giggles into Nick’s neck, who is never more than an arm’s length away. Louis tries to pretend that it doesn't bother him that Harry dropped their tight knit friend group for Nick’s in a heartbeat. Zayn, Liam, and Niall have become more affectionate than ever, constantly crowding into his space so that he never feels alone. Louis appreciates it, he really does, but he also really misses his best friend.

Louis always swore that he wouldn't be that person that constantly brooded over his past relationships like they were landmark failures that represented his entire self. But bitterness runs through Louis’ veins as sure as rain washed to sea. It’s his fault anyway. His inability to be what Harry needed him to be is what broke them up, nothing else.

“I don't wanna go back home.” Louis shoves a Cauldron Cake in his mouth, talks through it. “They aren't even my real parents, and now I have to deal with their bullshit. They gave me their name and now I gotta take all the shit from everyone because of their fuck ups. It isn't fair.”

Zayn exhales smoke, resting his cheek on top of Louis’ head. “You could come back to mine, you know.”

“What?” Louis asks, but he's heard him perfectly.

“For Christmas. You said you didn't want to go home, and I'm sure my parents will understand. We've got a spare bedroom.”

It's a kind offer, one that's almost too good to be true. Spending his birthday and Christmas with the one person that understands him? That's nothing short of what he imagines the best Christmas holiday to be. He's sure Harry won't want to talk to him, save for a text here and there, so Zayn would be the next best thing to spending the whole holiday alone in the Tomlinson’s giant mansion.

“Not sure sleeping alone will do me much good. Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

He’s not subtle, and has never claimed to be. He’s been shamelessly touch starved since him and Harry broke up, resorting to pity cuddles from Niall and the girls. But he and Zayn have always been closer somehow, a deeper-than-brotherly but strictly platonic bond between them that Louis refuses to question or push.

Zayn shrugs, flicking the ashes off the end of his cigarette.

“You could stay with me in my room, then. I don't mind. Gets cold at night anyway.”

“Why do you smoke those Muggle cigs anyway?” Louis asks, off topic. He can’t help his short attention span. “They'll kill you. Wizard ones are dirt cheap and the smoke disappears before it's even got time to properly get into your lungs.”

A gust of wind blows through the deserted tower, ruffling Zayn’s jet black fringe. “I'm just used to them, I suppose. Tried the wizard ones, but they don't take the edge off like Muggle ones do.” He takes one last drag before reaching into his robes for his wand. “ _Deletrius_.” The cigarette disintegrates between his fingers and disappears.

Louis watches him, content to sit in awe at Zayn’s endless knowledge. But he’s also slightly peeved.

“How do you know all these spells? Half the ones I hear you using we've never even been taught.”

“Books, Louis,” Zayn says casually, lighting up another cigarette with a mutter of _Incendio Minimus_. “I read spellbooks and remember the ones I think I might need.”

This is a foreign concept to Louis.

“You Ravenclaws and your dirty tricks.”

Zayn laughs, the sound getting carried away in the howling wind. But his eyes crinkle up, and that's just as well.

“I wasn’t joking y’know. You can stay with us over Christmas if things don't sort out with your parents. Mum and the girls have been wanting to meet you for ages. And I promise you won't have to be alone.”

Louis’ resolve crumbles and wraps an arm around Zayn’s waist, lets himself be held once Zayn reciprocates.

“I love you,” he says. “I mean it. You're my best friend and I don't know what I'd do without you.”

Zayn tugs idly on Louis’ green and silver tie. “Love you too, Lou. It's gonna be alright, I promise.”

✦✧✦

After a heated exchange of text messages with his mum, Louis finds himself dragging his suitcase through Diagon Alley as they wait for the next train to Zayn’s.

Diagon Alley just before the holidays is no more and no less than a stifling crowd of witches and wizards. A steady stream of shoppers with their children and their pets flit in and out of every shop. It never lets up, and it’s always been something that Louis hated, but couldn’t avoid. He always takes the train from Hogwarts to King’s Cross, then takes the Floo from Diagon Alley to his home in five seconds flat. Now that he has to brave it for more than just the walk from the entrance to the chimneys, it’s agonising. And for some reason Zayn finds Louis’ impatience endlessly amusing.

“Honestly, mate, you’ve got to relax. We’ve only got another hour, it’ll be fine.”

Zayn grabs his arm and steers him away from an oncoming pram, their suitcases nearly getting lost in the crowd.

“But it’s been _hours_ ,” Louis groans. “You need a Floo in your house.” He feels bad for saying it because he knows that Zayn’s family can’t afford it, not to mention that, as Muggles, they’d hardly get any use out of it.

“It’s been two hours,” Zayn reminds him.

“That’s _hours_ , is it not?”

Louis bumps into an elderly witch who appears to recognise him straight away. He has no idea how for a fleeting moment of naïveté and absentmindedness.

“Caused enough trouble, haven't you?” she says haughtily. “Watch where you’re going else I'll report you to the Ministry.”

Louis flinches at the memory of the last time he hadn’t minded where he was walking. “Sorry, ma’am.” He pulls Zayn towards Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, probably the only place in all of Diagon Alley where angry adults won’t be glaring at him from all angles. It’s also the furthest thing from Gringotts that he can think of.

While the shop is devoid of adults, it’s crawling with Hogwarts students, who glare at him just as harshly.

“Look who it is!”

“How can you show your face around here, honestly?”

“Come to steal something then, Tomlinson?”

In a moment of sudden bravery and anger, Louis whips around to fire back at the voice that pipes up from close behind him. But before he can, Zayn stops him with a calming hand on his shoulder, leading him behind a display of Peruvian darkness powder.

“Oi! Get out of my shop, the lot of you!”

The booming voice comes from behind the till, followed by the bell above the door tinkling repeatedly, along with some grumbling. Moments later a crop of red hair pokes around the corner of the shelves, attached to a worried looking George Weasley.

“You alright, Louis? I love a joke as much as the next guy but I don't tolerate bullying.”

Louis nods, ever appreciative of the few people in the world who aren't out for his blood.

“Thanks, George, really. Probably lost you some customers there, I'm sorry.”

George waves him off dismissively. “Don't be ridiculous, I'm doing just fine. Don't want knobheads buying my products anyway.” He throws Louis a wink. “It's all about integrity.”

Louis can feel one of Zayn’s fingers hooked into a belt loop on his jeans, grounding him.

“Thanks again.” Louis can't help but stare at his shoes. “Have you got any new stuff in since I was last here?”

When Louis is finally able to look up, George is beaming.

“You're gonna love it.”

 

Louis is distracted with the bag of products that George so kindly gave him at half price as they weave through the crowd to the other side of the alley. He’s vaguely aware of Zayn fidgeting next to him as he orders tea and one of each pastry on display at the Leaky Cauldron.

“Zayn, order what you want.”

Zayn does, but Louis doesn't hear what it is.

The witch at the till coughs when Louis doesn’t notice her talking to him. “That'll be three Galleons, four Knuts.”

Louis can feel Zayn’s incredulous expression on the back of his head before he even turns to see it.

“All I got was _tea_ ,” Zayn whispers to himself. Louis’ suddenly feels terrible. “I'll–”

“Settle down, Malik,” Louis says as he takes the two cups of tea in hand, trying to be cool about it, “I’ve got it covered. Best brew in all of Diagon Alley for my best friend who is so _graciously_ taking me into his home.” It’s a nicer way of saying, _I’m literally rich, don’t worry about it._ “Besides, we need snacks for the ride, don’t we? That’s all my doing. Throw in another blueberry scone for him, yeah?”

Thankfully, they come to a silent agreement to drop it after that.

He tips one of the patrons a Galleon to levitate their suitcases to the roof so they don't have to carry them up the stairs and back down again. (Louis really can't wait until he turns seventeen.) Zayn follows him to the roof of the Leaky Cauldron, where the London skyline is settled into the distance. It's a sight he’s come to appreciate, one that puts him and his seemingly larger than life problems into perspective, and one that Louis has never shared with anyone else. Zayn is worthy enough, though, to be granted a second secret of Louis’. Louis tells him as much, burning his tongue when he tries to slink behind his tea after he says it.

Zayn laughs when Louis curses. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” Louis asks defensively.

“You know…”

Louis doesn't know.

“Try to hide when you say something nice,” Zayn explains, “You don't have to be embarrassed about being all sappy, ‘s just me. You know I'm just as bad, mate.”

Louis’ cheeks redden anyway. “I know. Just always feels like things people say to, like, people they're in love with or something.” He doesn't know what he's trying to say. “People don't just dish out deep, heartfelt sentiments to all their friends.”

Zayn shrugs, propping his feet up on Louis’ lap as he gazes out towards the city. “I'd like to think we're a little more than just friends.”

The words themselves make Louis’ heart speed up, a rabbiting pace that makes his whole body run hot. That's not what he meant, not at all, and the implication is enough to send Louis reeling back to the past few months. He doesn't _want_ a relationship, he doesn't want a _boyfriend_. He just wants someone to call home, someone to be there for him without all the extra pressure of emotional obligation. Zayn is that for him, Zayn is exactly what he wants and needs. To think that, of all people, Zayn would try to make this something more than it is makes Louis’ hands start to dampen around his mug. He's sweating, now, and at least he finally knows why. He's never going to be in love with Zayn, and Zayn needs to know that.

“Hey.” Zayn’s noticed the charged silence. “You okay? Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean it like that.”

Louis decides to let his impulse do the talking, before he loses his nerve and keeps this a secret forever.

He shakes his head. “I need to tell you something.”

It makes the moment that much heavier, and somehow the open air is starting to cave around Louis. Even with Zayn’s earnest eyes looking back at him, ever-so trustworthy and safe, he feels trapped.

“Anything, Lou. It's alright.”

But it's too much, and there's an old woman across the rooftop staring at them. Her cat is, too.

The alarm Louis set so they wouldn't miss their train goes off between them.

Zayn rushes to grab his suitcase. “Shit, c’mon. You can tell me on the train, yeah?”

Louis nods, startled. “Yeah.”

But he's not sure he can.

 

Zayn forgets, as usual, and consequently so does Louis. Or, he pretends to. The impending conversation nags at the base of his skull, tapping away on the very back of his head. It's incessant, not going away anytime soon, and makes the entire train ride to Bradford absolutely agonising. Even as he pretends to sleep, headphones in tight, wrapped in Zayn’s arms, he's absolutely terrified.

Zayn’s family is the whirlwind that Louis has always dreamed of. A tumultuous amalgamation of personalities sardined into a single living space. It sets off a strange sense of nostalgia in Louis, like he’s missing something he’s never had. Like déjà vu.

The Maliks aren't as well off as the Tomlinsons, but they seem to make it work for themselves, even without magic. Zayn’s mum welcomes him with open arms and brews Louis a cup of tea just the way he likes it. Zayn’s sisters are fascinated by the magical boy he's brought home. His dad intimidates Louis at first, giving him eyes as though he's worried that Louis might turn him into a saucer in the middle of the night. Louis reassures him that he only does that to people that have wronged him. Needless to say, the joke is well received.

It's a breath of fresh air, being around Muggles who don't have an inkling of the scandal that's branded Louis’ family name. There are no pitiful glances or distant whispers, and for that Louis is thankful. The only anonymity he’s ever gotten was when Harry would take him to Muggle London and pull him in and out of the shops where the employees are never the same. It's the opposite of walking into the Leaky Cauldron and being eyed up by the bartender when he's got his Slytherin scarf on. It's the opposite of traipsing into Madame Malkin’s for new Slytherin robes and being given that disappointed head shake from the tailor. Louis would do anything for everywhere to be like Muggle London.

He's in his head all through dinner, and stays silent as he and Zayn tug their suitcases up the stairs to the attic where Zayn’s bedroom resides. They walk past the guest room on the way. It's much bigger, with a bigger bed and a higher ceiling, but when Louis steps foot into Zayn’s room for the first time, he wouldn't trade it for the world’s biggest bed.

The room is larger than life in a personality kind of way. Life and love and things that are distinctly Zayn cover every square centimetre of it. Drawings are hung precariously on a string along one inclined wall, a simple, spray painted alien emoji hovers over Zayn’s mattress of a bed. Stacks of comic books line the woodwork, superhero posters filling the empty space where photos of Zayn’s family and friends aren't. Louis spots himself punching Liam in the stomach on an endless loop in a photograph beside one of Zayn with his sisters that remains motionless. The whole room speaks to who Zayn is, shows a lived in space that someone calls their own. This is what Zayn calls _home_.

“This is really, really nice,” Louis feels the need to say.

“Thanks. Sorry about the mess. Haven't been home in a–”

Louis grabs his arm where he was about to start cleaning.

“Leave it. It's fine.” He thinks back to the pristine state of his bedroom, of how no matter what mess he leaves it's cleaned by the time he returns to it. Not a trace of Louis to be found. “Feels more homey this way.”

Without Louis having to say what he means, Zayn understands.  

✦✧✦

Zayn’s family home sits on a hill, not a steep one, but a hill all the same. It overlooks the rest of their scarcely inhabited town, the city cluttered in the distance, and has a barn in the back, something Louis has never seen before.

Living in a secluded mansion in the midst of a large city never served for Louis seeing much. He’d been to Muggle London before, but not as much as his parents would make him visit the local Wizard hangouts. The hidden shops and magical zoos were underwhelming in a way that only a child raised in the Wizarding World would find them. Everything always felt so secret and squared away, like there was a whole world he was missing out on that he didn’t even know about.

“You’ve got _pets_?” Another foreign concept to Louis. “Merlin, these are so much smaller than like, Hippogriffs or something. I’ve never seen one in real life, living in the city, y’know?”

Zayn goes about feeding the horses and the chickens, answering Louis’ incessant questions about why and how they have so many creatures in their backyard. He doesn’t really answer them, mostly saying, “I don’t really know, Lou, it’s just a thing we do,” and resuming his tasks. If Louis didn’t know better he’d think Zayn was annoyed with him, but he gives Louis his half-hearted answers with all the gentle patience of a long-winded explanation.

“I’ve been trying to convince my parents to let me get more magical creatures. All we’ve got right now are some baby Bowtruckles. And gnomes… I think that one likes you.”

Zayn points at his chest and Louis peers down to see small, green stick of a thing holding onto his shirt for dear life. Louis offers up his finger, and the Bowtruckle latches onto it, preening happily when Louis brings it close to his nose to see him properly. He feels comfortable in the most amazing way, a way that reminds him of his childhood and just how much he actually did love going to the zoo. Creatures have a way of communicating without words, and Louis has always appreciated that.

“Hey, pal. You alright?” The Bowtruckle nods, somehow. Louis turns to Zayn. “Does it have a name?”

Zayn shakes his head, smiling fondly. Louis grins back.

“I’m gonna call you Phillip.”

Phillip smiles with his tiny slit of a mouth, wrapping himself more tightly around Louis’ forefinger and nuzzling into it.

“I think he likes it,” Zayn says.

“Are there any of these at Hogwarts?”

Zayn laughs. “We studied them that day you were late to Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve missed some cool stuff this year, actually. The Grindylows and Nifflers, Prof even let us hold a baby Occamy he had on loan from the Scamander Society.”

“That finally pulled through?”

Louis had heard about that – a fund set up by Newt Scamander himself to provide creatures for wizarding schools across the world. He always did believe in everyone being more educated about the creatures and beasts that wizards cohabitate with and have a duty to keep secret and protect from Muggles. It only finally got up and running a few years ago, and Louis had heard about the legal dispute from his mum. It’d caused quite an uproar at Hogwarts and the Ministry alike, mostly because Newt had obviously had his alma mater in mind when starting the program. Eventually, Newt’s family had thrown all the legal stuff out and forced whoever involved to _just make it happen_. But Louis had gone back to school and consequently couldn't eavesdrop to hear if it all panned out or not.

“Yeah, it did. All sorted now.”

Louis rubs his hands together. “Have I really missed a lot? You know, in Care of Magical Creatures? I don't think that I’ve paid attention in that class since third year. That’s counting when I’ve been.”

It sounds ridiculous, and kind of sad. They both know how much Louis used to love that class. That is, until he got hit by a baby Runespoor second year and had to miss a month’s worth of Quidditch.

“A bit,” Zayn says. “But it’s been lots of boring little creatures, like Murtlaps and–”

“Aren’t they poisonous?”

Zayn shrugs. “You should start coming to class. You’d like it.”

Louis thinks on it, about how he’s not really interested in anything else. He thinks about his book of Dragons at home, about the first time he saw a Hippogriff at the zoo when he was nine. All those times when he pressed his nose right up against the glass and the creatures just stared back at him, like they had a understanding.

“Maybe I will.”

Zayn falls silent for a moment. “You can keep him y’know,” he says unexpectedly. “He’s always been a bit… separated from his brothers and sisters. He could use someone like you.” He moves closer, addressing Phillip. “Would you like that? To go with Louis?”

“What?” Louis has never had a pet before. “Like take him back to Hogwarts?”

Phillip grips Louis’ finger that much tighter.

Zayn nods. “Just leave him here for now, so he’s got time to say goodbye.” He gently pries the reluctant Bowtruckle off of Louis’ finger. “It’s alright, we’ll come back for you, I promise.”

The sentiment resonates in Louis in an odd way. A feeling of sadness and longing washes over him, like his heart is remembering something that his brain can’t. He feels dazed, on the brink of tears, and he has no idea why.

“You okay?”

Louis nods best he can.

“Yeah, yeah. Just… felt weird for a second. I’m sure it’s nothing.” He forces a smile onto his face. “Thanks, by the way.”

Zayn doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push it, putting Phillip with the rest of the baby Bowtruckles and setting down the bucket of chicken feed.

“If you say so.” He gestures toward the house. “Go and grab our brooms. I’ll just finish up here and we can play some one-on-one while Mum’s cooking.”

Louis’ heart is still heavy but he’ll never pass up a round of Quidditch.

“Will do,” he says, and scampers off.

✦✧✦

If there’s one thing Louis hates about Zayn, it’s his impeccable memory.

“You had something you wanted to tell me?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

A twin sized mattress isn't a good place to lie. The comfortably cramped space between them demands truth. The way Zayn’s ankle is wrapped around Louis’, it deserves the truth.

Zayn jostles Louis’ head with his shoulder. “C’mon, Lou, you can tell me.”

“I dunno what I'm supposed to be telling you.”

“Whatever's on your mind,” Zayn replies softly, pressing a soft kiss to Louis’ hair.

Louis can't help but notice that it's so much _different_ coming from him. It's better, less scary. It doesn't feel forced or fraudulent. They're best friends, they're reasonably affectionate, it makes sense. They make sense.

So Louis starts at the beginning.

“Harry broke up me because he thought I didn't love him.”

But that's really the middle, isn't it?

“Was he right?” Zayn's voice is level and calm. It keeps Louis’ heart from pounding any harder than it already is.

Louis picks at the skin on his fingers. “Not entirely.”

The dark surrounding them makes him feel safer, nothing but the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling to indicate that his eyes are open. He closes them.  

“I don't love him like… like _that._ ” It's the first time he's said out loud. And it feels right, it makes sense. It's the truth. “I didn't mind when we kissed and stuff. He'll, the sex was amazing. I just… he always wanted to hold hands, kiss my cheek for no reason. All the sweet messages and the romantic dates. I couldn't do it, Zayn, it felt so _wrong_. One sided. It wasn't fair to him.”

He realises how tight his voice is, but how comforting Zayn’s fingers in his hair feels. The tears have already started though, and his wet sniffle is a dead giveaway.

“I didn't know how to tell him. I feel like shit for leading him on. But I thought I liked him, I really did. I didn't mean to do it, Zayn, I didn't mean to hurt him and now I've lost one of my best friends.”

Zayn shushes him carefully, pulls him closer. “It's not your fault, Lou, you didn't know. Love is confusing. I don't think you've lost him. You should just tell him the truth, I'm sure he'll understand.”

“You didn't see his face.”

Zayn’s shirt is soft underneath Louis’ cheek, and the beating of his heart through his fragile chest is something of a lullaby.

There's several minutes of silence, Louis trying to get his breathing under control. Then Zayn speaks again.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Louis takes a long while to consider it, thinking back to every time he thought he was, how he wanted so badly to feel what everyone else was feeling. There were times he thought it was genuine, like with Harry, but he'd probably just wanted it too much.

“I don't… I don't know.”

The truth his, he doesn't know at all. He's not sure what being in love is supposed to feel like, no matter how many Google searches he does.

“You ever had fancied anyone? Like properly? Butterflies and stuff?”

Louis thinks back to first year, when Niall made him that friendship bracelet and Louis blushed. He'd hugged Niall, thanked him profusely for two weeks, and made him one in return. He'd never had a friend before, much less a friendship bracelet.

Then he remembers third ear, when Perrie had pecked him on the cheek for buying her a Butterbeer when she'd forgotten her money. He'd blushed then, too, and wanted to keep buying her Butterbeer just so she'd be happy like that again. She'd called him her best friend and he proudly accepted the title.

He thinks of Harry, of all the time they spent together for five and a half years, cuddling and sharing secrets. They know everything about each other, were each other’s very first everything. Nothing made him happier than spending time with Harry, being close with Harry, listening to music and doing coursework and having _fantastic_ sex with Harry.

“No,” Louis says. He doesn't know what it means. Now that he's realised it, it sounds ridiculous. “That's proper fucked up, isn't it,” he laments, “How could I never like _anyone_?”

He starts to panic, sitting up in the darkness and squeezing his eyes closed tight enough that he sees spots. He's got to be broken. Something's gone wrong in him and he's unable to fall in love. He's unable to even properly like someone and that… that can't be right.

“Is it because of my parents? My old family? Is that why I can't remember, because they did something to me? They fucked me up permanently?”

“Lou. Louis, calm down. There's nothing wrong with you.”

Zayn won't touch him, like he's afraid to set him off. He's a _freak_ and he's _broken_ and he's going to die alone like some basket case and have a thousand cats and yell at innocent kids to get off his lawn. He loves kids.

The light flickers on, and Louis can suddenly see his hands shaking in his lap. Then he sees Zayn kneeling in front of him, grabbing his hands, and telling him to breathe.

“I know what you're thinking,” he says calmly. “You're not broken, you're not going to die alone. I think– Louis, look at me– I think you might be aromantic.”

The word doesn't ring a bell. “What!?” Louis shouts a bit hysterically.

“Aromantic. It means you don't feel romantic attraction. You don't want to be with anyone romantically.”

It almost sounds like it makes sense.

“That's so—”

“Watch it,” Zayn scolds, “I am, too.”

Louis panics for a few moments more, just staring at Zayn, searching his eyes for what is apparently the answer to everything he's ever fretted over.

“Oh,” he says, a bit anticlimactically.

“Let's go to sleep. We'll look it up in the morning and I'll explain it to you and you can ask me all the questions you want. Then you can decide if that word is right for you.” Zayn touches Louis’ fringe gently. “I know it's confusing, but I promise there's nothing wrong with you. I love you, okay? Thank you for telling me. It's a lot and I'm proud of you.”

Louis could kiss him. But he doesn't, just pulls Zayn in by the neck of his shirt for probably the worst coordinated hug he's ever given.

“What would I do without you?” It's muffled, but loud in the quiet room. All Louis can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears.

“You'd be just fine,” Zayn says. “You're stronger than you know.”

Zayn’s alarm clock chimes softly for midnight.

“Happy Birthday, Lou.”

“Thanks, Zee.”

 

Louis feels as though his entire world has tilted on its axis now that he has a word for what he's been feeling. It was a bit of an emotional morning, where Zayn woke up and remembered what had happened the night before and gave Louis a pitiful look. Perhaps the pitiful look had been more about the fact that Louis was sat up next to him staring at the duvet with tears in his eyes. It’s not how he imagined waking up on his sixteenth birthday. Zayn had wrapped him up in a hug, though, and told him they could make him a cake for breakfast.

They’d spent the day in Zayn’s room, searching through the internet and reading different people’s experiences. Zayn talked more, sharing quips and tidbits and essentially explaining his own experience to Louis. Louis just curled up closer to Zayn, nibbling on pieces of the cake beside Zayn’s bed.

It’s late afternoon now, just before Zayn’s extended family is set to drop by for dinner. They’re out in the garden, behind the barn, lying in the wet grass that Zayn could’ve easily magicked dry, if he were old enough. Louis has been griping about the cold snow seeping through his pants for the past twenty minutes as the weed settles into his brain. With each lungful of smoke, though, he finds himself caring less and moving closer to Zayn where he’s leaned up against the tree they’re under. Louis finds himself with his head in Zayn’s lap, staring up at him as he smokes the last of the joint.

“Can’t believe that, like, I’m going to die alone. And poor. My parents are gonna be put in jail and I’m gonna be an orphan again. Imagine that. Orphaned twice. That’s got to be a record.”

“Lou, Louis.” Zayn rests his hand over Louis’ eyes. “That’s not going to happen. It’s gonna be alright.”

“But–” Louis’ thoughts are muddled, but one thing’s for sure, “Why’s it gotta be me that all this shit keeps happening to? Can’t I just be normal? Have a normal life?”

“Can’t have a normal life and do extraordinary things,” Zayn says a bit nonsensically. “That’s how I know you’re destined for greatness.”

The words don’t really resonate in Louis’ head, but they settle in his heart.

“Where d’you get this stuff anyway?” he slurs sleepily.

“A friend.” Zayn shrugs, “Muggle stuff. You wizards are boring. You’ve only got like, Firewhiskey and Gigglewater. ‘S boring.”

“Hey, you’re a wizard, too.”

Zayn just shrugs again.

Louis sits up, feeling the effects already starting to wear off. This is why wizards only have Firewhiskey to get unhinged; it’s tailored to their magical biology– Muggle stuff just doesn’t do it. He looks at Zayn, whose eyes are bloodshot and peering at him curiously. He still looks a bit out of it, and Louis wonders if Muggleborn wizard biology is more Muggle or magical.

Perhaps his answer comes in the form of Zayn leaning in and pressing their lips together. It’s soft and tentative and more of a question than anything, but it sparks something in Louis. It startles him, first and he jumps back, taking in the soft, content and dazed look on Zayn’s face right before it flips to guilt and embarrassment. He feels bad, horribly bad because he never thought of Zayn that way, never thought that Zayn ever thought of _Louis_ in that way.

“Sorry, I thought–”

Louis shakes his head, and before his brain has a chance to catch up he’s grabbing Zayn’s scarf, pulling him back in and kissing him again.

“It’s alright,” he assures him, mumbling into Zayn’s mouth, “Just caught me off guard. ‘S fine, promise.”

And it feels right enough, Zayn’s lips on his, insistent and searching and just enough. Louis’ stomach doesn’t flip nervously, he’s not wondering if Zayn is going to take this for more than what it is. This could work, he thinks. Zayn is just like him, isn’t ever going to fall in love. Zayn would understand if they were together without all of the things that make Louis’ palms sweat and stomach turn.

“Y’alright?” Zayn asks.

Louis nods, resumes the kiss, deeper this time, like he means it. And he does mean it. He means it when he takes Zayn’s face in his hands, when he lets Zayn pull him into his lap, means it when he ducks down to nip his teeth along the edge of Zayn’s royal blue scarf. Zayn can’t ruck up Louis’ shirt like he wants to, but he presses his cold hands underneath the front of it, holding onto Louis’ hips and digging his fingers in. It’s all Louis can do to stay still, not seem too eager.

Zayn mumbles something about his back.

Louis ignores him.

✦✧✦

It starts there, on Louis’ birthday, but it doesn’t end there. What probably should have been left at a one off Christmas Eve snog session turns into Christmas morning handjobs in Zayn’s room and New Year’s Eve blowies behind the house. Louis isn’t complaining – he _isn’t_ – he just sort of wishes that he wasn’t going along with this for all the wrong reasons. He can tell by the way they’re still able to look each other in the eye and carry on casual conversation that it’s really nothing more than mutual orgasms between best friends. He can’t tell if it’s comforting or if he hates it.

What bothers Louis most is the fine line between thinking that he’s fucked up and thinking that Zayn is fucked up. The last thing he wants to do is invalidate everything Zayn has told him about himself, but he can’t help but believe that he’s spectacularly broken when he finds himself once again not developing any romantic feelings towards the person he’s having sex with. Because, well, the two are supposed to go hand in hand…

Aren’t they?

Louis’ silent doubts and fears bleed well into their return to Hogwarts, and between his identity crisis and Zayn crisis and family crisis and the strange dreams he’s been having since they’ve gotten back, he feels ready to combust. And everyone seems to notice.

“You alright, mate?” Niall asks through a mouthful of salt-water toffee.

Louis tries not to look like he’s considering his answer, taking a sip of his tea to stall.

“I’m just fine. Don’t worry about me.”

A bunch of fourth year Ravenclaws have been staring at Louis across the Great Hall for the entirety of breakfast. Apparently no amount of eye contact can deter them from their extremely obvious gossiping. Louis flips them off with a smile. This makes Niall turn around, easily spotting the offending students.

“Niall, don’t–” Louis tries to beg. It’ll just draw more attention.

“Oi!” Niall shouts, anyway. Louis winces. “Mind your own business, why don’t you?”

Fortunately, everyone loves and respects Niall. The Ravenclaws look away and return to their breakfast.

“See? I got your back.”

“I know.” Louis smiles softly despite the racing of his heart. “Thanks, Nialler. Just let it be, though. We both know what happens when I open my big mouth.”

Realisation flashes across Niall's face. “Shit, I'm sorry. Won't do it again, I swear.”

Niall frowns. Niall should never be frowning. It makes Louis frown right back.

“It’s okay, really. I appreciate it. Now get that look off your face, alright? Good vibes only!”

Zayn, who’s been asleep on Louis’ lap, stirs awake at the sound of his Phoenix-faced watch squawking. He groans dramatically. Zayn hates his Advanced Painting class, but he’s taking the N.E.W.T in it a year early and has to get an Outstanding in order to get into the Ministry’s seventh year art program.

Louis pats his hair, letting his pale fingers rest in the dark tousle of it for a moment. “Sorry, lad. Up you get, c’mon.” He hates to wake Zayn, knows how much he needs his sleep.

“Don’t want to.”

Zayn nuzzles further into Louis’ lap in a way that should have Louis’ heart swelling with adoration and fondness. Instead it’s painfully platonic in the way it always has been. Nothing has changed. Except it leaving him a tad more turned on than usual.

“You have to. We’ll walk with you, right Niall?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Niall confirms through a mouthful of buttery toast. “Got to go to the library anyway.”

“Me too,” Louis says, his mouth ahead of his brain. When it catches up, he realises that his uncontrollable outbursts have good ideas sometimes.

They do walk with Zayn, and it’s a quiet walk. Louis’ arm is wound around Zayn neck as he remains half asleep on Louis’ shoulder. Niall shoots Louis strange looks the entire time as though they haven’t done this times before. Louis gives him weird looks back, but he can tell that Niall knows that something has changed between them in the gentle way that Louis is treating Zayn. He’s usually roughly sweet, dragging Zayn’s sleeves and pulling his hair from his forehead in a grand sweep of his hand. He’s treating Zayn the way he used to treat Harry, but his heart can’t tell. It remains as stagnant as it was before he and Zayn started whatever it is they’re doing. It feels exactly the same and Louis sort of wants to cry.

When Zayn is safely inside the classroom, far out of earshot, Niall makes a point to say something about it.

“So you’re shagging him now, are ya?”

Niall looks torn between wanting to tell Louis off and getting all the details. But he isn’t one to threaten hexes for the truth. So Louis decides that playing dumb may be in his best interests, and shrugs.

“What are you on about, Neil? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’re a worse liar than Liam, mate.”

He bumps into Louis playfully.

“Oi!” Louis warns. “Watch it, got my new best mate in here.”

Niall’s eyes light up at the sight of the Bowtruckle wrapped securely around Louis’ fingers. His short attention span is Louis’ favorite thing about him.

“No way! Where’d you get one? Heard they’re like, ten thousand Galleons each. Really rare.”

Louis didn’t know that. “ _Ten thousand?!_ ” It’s not exactly a mind boggling price for him, but for Zayn? Who couldn’t even afford a blueberry scone? Where did his family get that kind of money?

Niall nods. “Can I hold him?”

“Yeah.” Louis shakes his frantic thoughts. “Yeah, sure. You can try. He’s quite fond of me.”

Louis was only bragging, but Phillip doesn’t let up his grip on Louis long enough to be passed to Niall. It makes Louis feel extremely pleased with himself.

“Told you.” He lets Phillip crawl back inside the inner breast pocket of his robes. “Don’t worry, Phillip, you’ll warm up to Niall. We all do.”

“Are you alright?” Niall asks as they stumble through the doors to the library.

Louis looks around a bit hopelessly. He’s never even been to the library before. The tall shelves and scarce lighting give the whole place a stuffy feeling. Everything is in shades of brown from the wood top tables to the leatherbound books. It’s a bit much. How does anyone find anything?

“What?” His brain finally registers that Niall has asked a question. “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

Niall leads the way. “You’ve got a lot going on, mate. I dunno if you’ve like, talked to Zayn over hols but you tend to keep things bottled up. You know we’re all here if you wanna talk. About your dad, Harry, whatever. That’s what friends are for, y’know? You don’t have to go it alone.” He stops in front of a section of green covered books. Huh, so they aren’t _all_ brown. “Got your back, yeah?”

Louis is halfway to tears by the time Niall’s finished, closing the distance between him and his friend. He wraps his arms around Niall’s neck, hiding his face and feeling endlessly grateful. Niall smells like fresh baked cookies and mint and the pumpkin juice he had with breakfast. It’s this side of platonic that’s nice to have as well, knowing they aren’t at all attracted to each other and Niall is truly just offering to be there for him, and nothing more. He hugs Louis back, arms snug and comfortable. What’s more is that Niall can tell that he’s been bottling most of his troubles up, because now that Louis is trying his hardest not to lose what he has with Zayn, he can’t be so honest anymore. He can’t be such a mess. He has to be on his best behavior and not drive Zayn away like he did with Harry.

“Got yours too,” Louis says, muffled. “I’m alright for now. Might need a bit of help finding some things in here, though.”

Niall mumbles into Louis’ hair, “Have you ever even been in here before?”

“Not once, mate.”

 

Several sneeze attacks later, Niall apparently has had enough of watching Louis rifle through books and newspapers that are nearly two decades old. He's resting on the table on his elbows, hovering over Louis with a bit of a bored expression.

“Do you even know what you’re looking for?”

Louis feels a bit guilty, keeping this from him when he’s being so helpful. Louis always been grateful for Niall’s ability to take everything in stride, tries to be as helpful as possible with little questions asked. The Hufflepuff has just sat back quietly, handing Louis whatever he asks for without a second glance. It wouldn’t hurt to open up, he thinks, just this once.

Louis pushes away the stacks of papers and books in front of him, drops his gaze to his lap. He can see Phillip peaking out from in inner robes pocket.

“I- I wanted to see if there’s anything in here about my family. Like, my real family. I don’t remember anything. From before.”

“Does this have anything to do with the…” Niall sounds uncertain. Niall never sounds uncertain. “Weird dreams you’ve been having?”

“Wh-What?” Louis balks defensively, which probably gives away the fact that Niall is totally correct. “Who said anything about dreams?”

Niall laughs, but only for a second before frowning. “The lads might've mentioned you've been, well, y’know.”

“No, I obviously don't know that my roommates are discussing my sleeping habits with my friends.”

“Right.” Niall stays quiet for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. “Well, anyway, they say you've been havin’ bad dreams and whatnot. Been meaning to ask you about it. Does it have anything to do with that?”

Louis doesn't really know what to do with that information. He only knows that his dreams probably most have something to do with the fact that he can't remember his family, or his past. His dreams are never eventful, he can never _see_ anything. It's always just those visceral emotions. It's fear, love, comfort, pain, the feeling as though he's remembering something, but can't picture it. His brain has forgotten what his heart had felt at one time, and he wants to get to the bottom of it.

“I think… I think that my dreams are memories. Maybe they're, like, surfacing because of all the stress, you know?” Louis fidgets. It's odd, being so honest, acknowledging that he's going through a rough time. “They're just… strange. I can't ever see in them. Like I'm blind or summat. It's like getting déjà vu but only, like, the feelings I had. Not the actual event. Like I’ll say to myself, _I know I’ve definitely felt this way before._ ”

Niall just looks at him, clearly at a loss for what to say. And Louis gets several wild ideas in the span of five seconds.

“Do, um, do you happen to know anything about Legilimency? Or memory extraction?”

Niall shakes his head, eyebrows pinched.

“No,” he says, “But… I think I know someone who might.”

✦✧✦

Louis doesn't see Niall for a while after their library browse. With Zayn snatching him away after classes and shoving him into broom cupboards between meals, he doesn't exactly see much of anyone else besides his roommates and classmates, none of which are his actual mates.

The isolation that comes with being a so-called blood traitor and being the son of a thief is almost as bad as the constant bullying that ensued for Louis’ first five years at Hogwarts. And now, without Harry – the pure, friendly Ravenclaw that charms everyone in sight because he managed to convince everyone that he’s ten-twelfths Veela on a sugar induced dare by Louis in their first year – by his side, he's been pretty much susceptible to anything. Only, it seems that everyone has collectively decided that leaving Louis to his own devices would be more cruel. And so far, it's working.

“Muggle prisons do it all the time,” Zayn explains on the way to Care of Magical Creatures.“It’s called solitary confinement. Makes people go crazy, stuck with their own thoughts and just themselves.”

“Good to know,” Louis mutters. It’s too early in the morning for this.

“Hey.” Zayn wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulders and noses into his cheek. “You've got me. Not totally alone. Would never leave you on your own.”

It's a weighted promise that Louis snatches up and locks into his heart. It seems real, for the whole ten seconds that he allows himself to believe it. Because he knows Zayn is going to leave. Everyone does, eventually.

When they reach the entrance to the forest, Louis spots Nick Grimshaw. And for one solitary second, Louis doesn't feel the need to spit insults at him like it's his job. Then Louis sees who he's talking to, and feels ridiculously betrayed, even though he has no reason to. Nick is talking to Harry, who isn't even in this class, who Louis hasn't properly seen since the day Harry stormed out of his life and decidedly stayed out of it.

Nick meets Louis’ eyes, then clutches his furry textbook closer to his chest, freezing up like he's been caught eating Fizzing Whizzbees by his mum after bedtime.

Louis is just as still, having fallen out of step with Zayn and just staring at Harry, who still hasn't noticed him. When he does, he doesn't spend more than a moment acknowledging Louis’ presence before saying what looks like a goodbye to Nick and heading back up the path towards the castle, purposefully bumping into Louis on his way past.

Tears well up in his eyes before he can stop them, and suddenly both Nick and Zayn are shuffling towards him. Everyone’s staring, Louis can feel it, but can't bring himself to look anywhere but his scuffed up Converse.

Zayn gets to him first, giving Nick a shove when he tries to get close.

“Louis, I’m so sorry–” Nick tries.

Zayn cuts him off. “You’ve done enough, mate.”

“I didn't know you'd– I mean, I– I’m _sorry._ He's my friend. It's–” He’s hopelessly floundering for words while both Zayn and Louis just stare at him. “I’ll just… Go. Tell prof I fell ill or something. If he asks. Or don't. I'm really sorry.”

Louis wrestles with his conscience, and manages to lose just before Nick turns to leave.

“Nick.”

He turns around, eyes wide and apologetic but doesn't say anything.

“It's alright. It's not your fault. I don't own the castle grounds, I just– Haven't seen him. Don't miss class because of me. I heard we've got a Phoenix on loan from the foundation.”

Nick looks about closer to tears than Louis feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. It sounds like it's for something else.

Louis nods. “I know.”

 

It turns out that the rumors were true. After nearly half an hour of complaining and shivering on the students’ part, Professor Corden emerges from behind a tree with a large, red bird on his arm. It's beautiful, with gold accents in its feathers and a jet black beak, tail feathers nearly reaching the ground below.

The students’ gasps don't go unnoticed by the bird, who stands up a little straighter at the sound of them all. The professor hushes them, then motions to Nick, of all people, for him to come closer.

Nick looks at Louis, panicked, then shakes his head.

Professor Corden nods in a way that indicates that Nick doesn't really have a choice in the matter.

“Now,” the professor’s booming voice directly opposes his earlier hushing, but the bird seems unbothered now, “What Nick is going to do is show us how to correctly handle and feed a Phoenix.”

Over Christmas, Louis meticulously poured over Zayn’s copies of _The_ _Monster Book of Monsters_ and _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_. Once he'd figured out it was creatures that held his interest above all else, he realised that he had some catching up to do. And according to Louis’ research, he's not sure that Nick’s violent trembling is good for handling a large bird of prey. He knows you have to be calm and steady while handling a Phoenix, two things that Nick isn’t most of the time.

“Does anyone know anything about Phoenixes?”

The question seems to startle the class, too transfixed on the bird to be in a learning mindset. And the first time in his life, Louis volunteers an answer.

“They can Apparate,” he says, “Not like wizards do, but more like house-elves. They can take along anything that's touching them as well.”

The entire class is staring at him quite intently, almost as if they didn't know he existed until now. Even Professor Corden, who has mercilessly noted Louis’ latenesses and absences, has a dubious expression, as if he didn't think Louis was capable of being a student as well as a disappointment to the Wizarding World.

“That’s very true. Thank you, Louis.” He doesn't award Louis any House points for his correct answer. “Anything else? Anyone?”

The professor seems to be actively avoiding looking in Louis’ direction, silently begging for someone to say anything that all.

When no one does, Louis turns to Zayn with a questioning look. His palms have started to sweat and he feels spectacularly singled out, but if Louis is anything, it's a show off. Zayn seems to know this, and offers him an encouraging nod.

“Phoenix tears have healing properties.” Louis feels Zayn rest a comforting hand on his shoulder. “There have been cases of some even bringing back wizards on the brink of death.”

“Yes.” Professor Corden doesn't spare Louis a glance. “And does anyone know what Phoenixes are most commonly used for in our world?” He seems desperate for quite honestly anyone _else_ to respond.

“Their feathers are used for wand cores,” Louis says flatly.

This time, Professor Corden doesn't offer more than a curt nod of agreement, turning to Nick in an evident attempt to move on from questions that clearly only Louis knows the answers to.

“Mr. Grimshaw here is now going to hold Fawkes here–”

“Fawkes?” Louis can't help the outburst. “Like, Dumbledore’s Phoenix? That Fawkes?”

The professor ignores him once again. “If you would just put this glove on, Nicholas.”

As Professor Corden gets ready to hand over the bird, Nick looks about ready to faint. He's paler than one of the Hogwarts ghosts, his hands shaking terribly as he slides the glove onto his hand. Louis doesn't think it's from the cold.

“Professor, I could handle the Phoenix. I don't think that Nick–”

“Louis, leave it,” Zayn mumbles behind him.

“No!” Louis doesn't lend the same courtesy of keeping his voice down. “He clearly doesn't want to do it. Professor, I can–”

“That'll be enough from you, Mr. Tomlinson, thank you. Nick here will do just fine.”

“He's terrified! Look at him!”

Nick manages to find his voice. “It's fine, Louis, really.”

“No.”

Snow crunches under Louis’ feet as he storms out of the huddle of students and into the space that Nick, the Phoenix, and their professor inhabit. He tugs the glove off of Nick’s hand and throws it onto the ground.

“You don't want to do it,” Louis tells Nick, “And that's fine. He can't force you.” He turns to the professor. “You can't force him to.”

Professor Corden straightens up, puffs out his chest. “Very well.” He sounds extremely smug and Louis doesn't like it one bit. “Twenty points from Slytherin and Hufflepuff. _Each._ And you can both leave my class and enjoy two weeks of detention.”

Louis’ mouth falls open, but he's void of any protests. He can see Nick deflate, but also see his chest rising and falling rapidly. He finds his bearings at the sight of Nick, so obviously intimidated by Professor Corden abusing his authority over them.

“Fine.”

He takes Nick by the sleeve and drags him away. He tries to take Zayn as well, but Zayn stays put. They have a silent conversation in which Louis raises his eyebrows as if to say _Are you really not going to back me up on this?_ and Zayn twists his mouth up in a way that says _I’m sorry but I can't afford the consequences._ Nick, luckily, doesn't have much choice, and allows himself to be led back towards the castle and into the Great Hall. Louis can still faintly hear the whispers and snickering of his classmates in the back of his head. And he's fairly certain that Nick can as well, if his being hunched over at an empty table with his face in hands and heavy breathing are anything to go by.

Louis’ protective instincts kick in and he rushes to Nick’s side.

“Hey,” he puts a hand on Nick’s shoulder that quickly gets shrugged off, “I'm so sorry about everything. Are you alright? Can I get you anything? I didn't mean for. I mean– You just looked so scared, it wasn't fair of him to make you do that.”

Nick shakes his head, taking deep, shaky inhales through his nose. Louis tries to recall everything that Harry has ever said about Nick, wracking his brain for every fact that he never wanted to know about him.

“Are you having an anxiety attack?” Louis asks carefully.

Nick nods a bit sadly. “Just go away,” he responds, sounding a bit hopeless and a lot breathless.

“I can’t do that, I’m afraid.” He tries again to lend Nick a comforting touch, and doesn’t get rejected this time. Louis reaches into his robes pocket and removes a tiny vial. He’s never really needed to use this, but carries it around just in case Zayn might need it. “Here, take this.”

Nick looks up, eyes wet and red and hopeless. He’s still breathing like his lungs are too small, and gives Louis a look that begs the question _Are you going to poison me?_

“It’s a Draught of Peace,” Louis amends before Nick can ask. “It should be alright, I’m really good at making it. I brew it for Zayn a lot. And I promise it isn’t poison, s’just to calm you down. Anxiety can be a right pain.”

Nick doesn’t look entirely convinced, so it must be pure desperation when he reaches out and takes the vial from Louis. He has a small struggle with the cork stopper, but manages, and once he’s swallowed the last of the blue liquid, the color returns to his face.

“Better?”

“Loads.” Nick hands the vial back, touch lingering where his fingers brush against Louis’. His cheeks turn pink, and Louis pretends not to notice. “Thank you.”

The Great Hall is quiet and thankfully empty, everyone either in class or their dormitories so early in the morning. And in the light of the late sunrise that’s shining down from the magical ceiling, Nick’s gratitude is unmistakably written across his face. It shines in his eyes and is evident in the slight blush that rests high on his cheeks. It’s in the small smile tugging at his lips. And Louis feels bad for costing him house points, and getting him two weeks two weeks of detention. But he couldn’t help it. Even after as horrible as Louis had been to Nick for as long as they’ve known each other, Nick has been there for Louis when he needed help. And maybe when the roles are reversed Louis isn’t as proficient, but he had to return the the favor, it was only fair. With as angry as Nick’s stupid hair makes him, he’s sort of developed a soft spot for the Hufflepuff that always seems to be there when he needs someone.

Louis realises that maybe he’s been staring at Nick, and averts his eyes.

“I’m sorry for getting you detention,” he mumbles.

Nick sighs, like it was inevitable. “Don’t be. Prof was being  dickhead, it wasn’t right. And if we get detention because you were brave enough to stand up for the both of us, so be it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis can see Nick toying with the fringes of his yellow and black scarf.

“Wasn’t so much bravery as it was plain defiance. I really hate being ignored, if you didn’t know.”

“Trust me,” Nick laughs, “I know all too well.”

Something deep inside Louis shifts. Maybe it’s the fact that Nick just had a full on anxiety attack in front of him, or that he’s not mad that he’s landed two weeks of detention with Louis, or that he said Louis was _brave._ But Louis is suddenly hit with the fierce desire to be friends with Nick, to protect him from arsehole professors and to make sure he carries around a Draught of Peace for him as well, just in case.

It scares Louis, in a I-thought-I-hated-this-guy kind of way.

“I’ve got to go,” he says abruptly, and almost misses the way Nick’s face drops. “Revision, you know? I’ll, um, see you in detention, I suppose?”

Nick nods as Louis stands, and gives him a small wave.

“Yeah. See you.”

✦✧✦

Liam, sweet, stupid Liam comes up to Louis on an innocuous Wednesday in February and smiles his crinkly eyed smile and says,

“Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Liam smacks a wet kiss to Louis’ forehead and hands him a great big card with a childlike drawing on the front of it – Cupid shooting a heart-tipped arrow at a stick figure that vaguely resembles Louis. It makes Louis want to vomit.

Fortunately, Zayn appears just after Liam leaves, sliding a hand around Louis’ waist and pulling him close.

The entirety of the Great Hall is strung pink, bubble hearts floating everywhere and streamers covering the walls. Even the enchanted ceiling has got something to say about it. Everyone’s snogging everywhere and Louis has heard about enough cooing to last his lifetime. Zayn watches the gears turning in his head, like he can read Louis’ thoughts about how he wishes he could be _normal_ . How he’d still be with Harry. They’d be swapping nauseatingly pink gifts and holding hands and calling each other _pumpkin_ or something equally horrible. He doesn’t fit in on a regular day, but Valentine’s Day is a different animal and it’s locked its jaw on Louis’ leg and won’t let go.

Zayn wordlessly plucks the card from Louis’ hands and tucks it away in one of his pockets. He leads them down the corridor and up the spiral staircase that leads to the Ravenclaw common room. Slowly, everything turns less pink and smells less like baked treats.

“I love Liam,” he says when they’re about halfway there, “I really do. But sometimes he’s got a skull thicker than a brick wall.”

Louis shrugs. “It’s fine. He didn’t know.”

“What?” Zayn stops short, causing Louis to stumble backwards in his grip. “You haven’t told him?”

“I–” Louis doesn’t understand. “Was I supposed to? I’m not even entirely _sure_ if–”

He shuts up when Zayn’s face falls. Then he looks determined and angry all at once and maintains that look as he hauls Louis up the rest of the stairs and through the knobless door into the spacious common room. Everything rushes past in blurry shades of blue, and suddenly Louis is stood at the foot of Zayn’s bed being glared at.

Louis has always liked the Ravenclaw bunks better than the Slytherin ones. Instead of black out curtains hung on the four poster beds, the Ravenclaws bunks are draped with chiffon canopies. The early morning is always nice in Ravenclaw tower, which faces the east. The sunlight floods through the glass windows and through the material and casts a soft blue light all over the room. It’s peaceful, and much less daunting than waking up in the pitch black knowing that you’re underwater. Sometimes it makes Louis feel safe, other times it makes him feels like he’s drowning.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Zayn’s voice snaps Louis back into the present. “Whenever you’re feeling unsure or questioning or just… in general. You can talk to me.”

Louis scoffs. “You sound like Niall.”

“No, I sound like your best mate. You don’t have to keep it all bottled up. It’s not good for you.”

He knows, for fuck’s sake. They make it sound like it's so _easy._

“I _know_. Do you all ever get tired of saying that? You act like I’m doing it on purpose, that I want to feel so shit about everything. It’s fucking hard, you know? I can’t just walk up to you and say, ‘Oh, yeah, everything is awful, please comfort me,’ can I? No, of course not, that’s ridiculous. You’ve all got your own shit to deal with, and I’ll deal with mine. M’not gonna just be such a fucking downer all the time, then really no one’s going want to be around me.”

“What?”

Zayn sounds offended. Which, is great, Louis is sure. He tugs Louis’ arm again, this time so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Zayn doesn’t sit on the bed, instead situates himself on Louis’ lap and holds his face between his hands. He’s got this horribly sad look on his face and his whole body is warm where it’s touching Louis’ and really, maybe everything isn’t so shit. Louis has a tendency to be dramatic, surely Zayn knows that.

“I _told_ you,” he says fiercely, “You’re not on your own. You don’t have to be. You’ve got me and Niall and Liam. I’m sure the girls would understand. You’ve got people on your side, Lou. I know it feels like everything and everyone’s against you right now and I’m so sorry about that because you don’t deserve it. But we’re here, alright? If you want a cuddle or a cry, if you want to gripe about how shitty life is and get drunk or not.”

Louis opens his mouth to say how annoying that must be, but Zayn doesn’t let him.

“No. You make it sound like it’s an inconvenience to us. It isn’t. You’d be there for us if we were going through the same thing, wouldn’t you?”

He waits for Louis to nod, then continues.

“Let us be the friend to you that you would be for us, alright? And you can tell them, you know, when you’re sure and when you’re ready. They understood with me, so I promise they won’t be horrible about it.”

Louis doesn’t get a chance to respond before Zayn is squeezing his face just a bit tighter and pulling him in for a kiss. Zayn kisses him like he’s trying to tell Louis how stupid he is without words. It’s not sweet, or gentle, just the insistent push and pull of Zayn telling Louis that he’s an idiot for ever thinking that he couldn’t open up to him. It feels just as nice as it always does, and Louis’ hands fit in the tiny dip of Zayn’s thin waist just like they always do.

 _He doesn’t love you_ , Louis has to tell himself, even as Zayn gets him to lie on his back and accept the affectionate assault on his throat. _He never will_.

With that comes the reminder that Louis feels just the same as ever. Nothing but a fierce gratitude and appreciation for his closest friend sits calmly in his heart. And Louis doesn’t think that will ever change.

But somehow, for as much as he wishes to be normal, to be convinced that _maybe he hasn’t found the right person yet_ , he thinks that maybe as long as he has Zayn, he can be alright with this.

✦✧✦

Louis spends the next two weeks in a bit of a fog. He thinks, and does his coursework, and sits in the Owlery listening to Muggle radio even though it’s mostly static because for as far as magic and Muggle technology has come, there are still places where it goes it but wonky. There are too many enchantments on the Owlery for Louis to get a proper signal, but even the crackle of songs that sound vaguely familiar, like something he’s heard in a past life, give him some comfort while he tries to sort himself out.

He thinks about his dreams, about the darkness and the voices he knows he’s heard before. He thinks about Zayn, and how he wishes he could feel something other than the fierce need to be the best friend that he can be to him. He thinks about Nick and the two vials of a Draught of Peace sitting in his hoodie pocket, just in case.

He doesn’t think about Harry, and he doesn’t think about his parents, and absolutely doesn’t think about what’s going to happen when term ends.

At the start of the third week, as he’s asleep after a few hours of pouring over his ridiculously confusing thoughts and feelings, Louis get an ominous message from Niall via patronus. At around 3 AM, a tiny fluorescent hummingbird flutters into his bunk and gets really close to his ear and delivers Niall’s loud voice, telling him to meet him in the Astronomy Tower. It effectively jolts Louis from his sleep and causes several groans of complaint from his roommates. The bird disappears, but only after Louis has hissed at it to _give him just a moment, please._ How does Niall even know how to do that, anyway?

He moves as quickly as he can, pulling on trackpants and a hoodie. He takes care to make sure that Phillip is tucked away safely in his bedside table before rushing out of the common room. He forgoes shoes, creeping through the castle in just his thick, wool socks until he reaches the Astronomy Tower.

Just as he’s about to begin his trek up the tiny spiral staircase, a flood of students come hurtling towards him. The flank of their footsteps on the metal allots him enough time to avoid being trampled. They all give him curious looks as they pass and he’s once again hit with the overwhelming realisation that he doesn’t belong anywhere.

Tiny planets and stars float about, and the paintings on the walls emit tiny pinpricks of light to reflect the night sky.

In the middle of it stands Niall talking a mile a minute to Harry and Luna Lovegood. Louis feels as though he’s just stumbled upon a very secret meeting that he’s not supposed to know about, but that notion is quickly squashed when Harry gestures behind Niall and he turns around with his signature smile on his face. Louis didn’t know that a smile of that capacity was possible at nearly half three in the morning.

“Tommo!” He wraps Louis up in a hug, dragging him over to the little circle. “Harry, you know Louis. Luna, this is Louis Tomlinson, my best mate that I was telling you about.”

Luna offers Louis her hand to shake, a ring on each finger that leaves him cold.

“Pleased to meet you,” she says. Her voice is just about the most gentle thing that Louis has ever heard. “Niall says you were interested in memory extraction?”

Louis nods. “What exactly is it that you lot are doing up here in the middle of the night?”

“Practicing, teaching,” Harry explains. “That sort of thing.”

Louis hasn’t heard Harry’s voice in months, and it sort of hits him all at once in a way that he’s surely doing a bad job of covering up. But for as unaffected as Harry is pretending to be, he’s turning over his wand in his hands nervously, a dead giveaway.

Luna’s soft tone distracts Louis from over thinking it. “Have you heard of Dumbledore’s Army?” Louis nods. Of course he has, everyone has. It’s one of the first things that Professor Binns drones on about in second year History of Magic. “It’s a bit like that, only without the impending war. Some students don’t find classroom methods beneficial, so Harry and I here have started this club to help those who need a bit more of a hands on approach. Or who just want to perfect their skills. We also offer some more advanced magic.”

“Like Patronuses,” Louis says.

Luna smiles. “Like Patronuses. Are you interested in learning how to make one?”

Louis is extremely envious that Niall knows how to produce a messenger Patronus, and thinks that it would be hilarious to see the look on Zayn’s face if he conjured one up.

“Maybe,” he concludes. “I, um, kind of want to know more about the memory extraction, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure! It’s basically the removal of a memory, wherein it quite literally is being taken from you, but you can preserve it, that way it can never be lost. To view them requires a pensieve, and you can look back on them any time. Some people use it when they’re brains are too cluttered, or to keep something important stored to relive it, or when they would like to remove something they’d rather not remember. It’s a rather simple spell. How come you’re interested, if _you_ don’t mind.”

He glances at Harry, as if acknowledging the fact that they haven’t spoken in months will make it less awkward. Harry probably knows that he’s shagging Zayn. Niall probably told him. This whole situation is horribly anxiety inducing and Louis really wishes that Niall would’ve told him that Harry was going to be here.

“It’s no bother. I've just been having some odd dreams lately and I’m not sure if they’re memories or not. I can’t seem to remember anything from before I was adopted – when I was five – and I just. Wasn’t sure. ”

Luna nods gently. She seems to understand even the stuff that Louis isn’t saying. He supposes that maybe she can see past his words, having been friends with Harry Potter. Surely he struggled with more than just saving the world during his time at Hogwarts, perhaps he confided in her. Or maybe it’s because she’s a mother.

“Come,” she says, “Have a seat over here and I’ll see what I can do.”

Louis situates himself on the stone steps near the center of the space. The moon hovers over the Black Lake, full and bright, illuminating the surrounding trees as well as the castle grounds. It’s one of those views that gives Louis a moment of clarity, not unlike the London skyline as seen from the roof of the Leaky Cauldron. The stones are cold, even through his bottoms, and he shivers.

Luna settles next to him, Niall and Harry standing in front of them. She takes her wand and presses it to Louis’ temple.

“This might hurt a bit, alright?”

Louis nods, thinking that he’s prepared for whatever pain may come. But he definitely isn’t ready for the sensation of his brain being reached into. His skin pinches where Luna’s wand is settled and it feels as though there’s a tiny hand poking around in his head. It moves to the very center of his brain, feeling around. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, hands balled up into fists, trying not to pull away from the horrible discomfort of what Luna might find lying around in his brain.

Then it’s gone all at once and he’s realises that he’s been holding his breath. When he unclenches his jaw and opens his eyes, Luna is looking at Harry. She seems a bit bewildered, a bit confused, a bit sad. It’s not very reassuring.

“Well?”

Luna turns back to him. “Louis, I...”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, mouth falling shut. She fidgets with her white blonde hair, rings clacking together. Her nerves transfer over to Louis, making his stomach knot up tight.

“ _What_ ,” he demands. “What is it?”

For someone who lived through a war, she looks horribly spooked. “There’s nothing there,” she says sadly.

That doesn’t make any sense. “How is that possible?” Louis doesn’t _understand_.

Luna meets his eyes, finally, her expression drawn tight.

“Louis, you… You don’t have any memories.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for sticking it out to this point. Loved it? Hated it? Please let me know. Kudos and comments are the fire in my heart.


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